


Mistress, Sovereign, Slave

by houseofabrasax



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Royalty, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Chains, Collars, Corporal Punishment, Dehumanization, Disobeying Orders, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, Marking, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Multi, Multiple Partners, Muzzles, Naked Female Clothed Male, Naked Male Clothed Female, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Pet Play, Politics, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Punishment, Puppy Play, Riding Crops, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Royalty, Service Submission, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Some Plot, Switching, Teasing, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Whining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofabrasax/pseuds/houseofabrasax
Summary: In the game of politics, the rules are rigid. You win by knowing how and when to bend them. When the game is pleasure, the rules are always changing. The winner knows who is playing -- and how to play with them.





	1. The Festival

She woke in the King’s bed that morning, her own looming above, unused.

They’d fallen asleep naked and tangled up together. As usual she found by the end of the night she’d twisted herself into a strange gown of bedsheets, not sufficiently covering to protect her modesty but not sufficiently open to leave her exposed. This had left him with nothing at all, lying peacefully and stoically on his back with her pressed up against him. She had her own bed for a reason.

He was still asleep, though she knew not for long. No matter how still she tried to keep herself, she knew he would stir shortly after she did. Battle-instincts, maybe. Paranoia, less likely. He never seemed to have a problem with the noise she made in the loft, but right beside him she could never keep him asleep. 

So she decided to resign herself to it, gathering her swirl of blankets about herself and pressing lazily into his chest, humming softly. She could feel him wake, felt the breathing change under her ear. He didn’t move for a short while, simply let her lie there against the heat of his body.

“Good morning,” he said after a time. His voice was quiet; he knew she was awake.

She rolled over, face to face now. She extended her neck slightly, hovering above his mouth while she waited for silent permission. She got it in the form of his hand on her upper back, extra-gentle like she was made of glass. She kissed him. “Good morning.” Her head met his chest again, and his right hand naturally drifted up her shoulder. He stroked it lightly.

“This was a bad night for this.”

She smiled. “I found it a rather good night.”

“We both have an important day.”

She looked into his eyes. “You will be effortlessly regal, as you always are, and I shall smile nicely for an hour or two. Nothing difficult about it.”

“My dear, you would likely charm them if you arrived as you are and fell asleep in the gardens.”

“If I arrived as I was I’d do far more than charm them—”

“But,” He cut her off. “Charm cannot carry me on its own.”

She took one last moment pressed against his chest, said a silent goodbye to her lovely morning, and sat up. “No, it shan’t. What shall carry you is the gravitas of your station, the natural charisma I’m so keen on, and the abiding love of your people. And the support from your effervescent and charming wife.” He actually smiled at this, tired-looking though he was.

She climbed all the way out of bed now, letting the sheets and duvets slip to the bed or the floor as they would. A quiet yawn beckoned and she let it take her, though there may have been some slight exaggerating of the stretch for the King’s benefit.

She made her way up the stairs that spiraled up the outer edge of the bedroom.

She looked down from her balcony view to where he was still watching her go and blew a kiss over the bannister. He smiled again, but otherwise didn’t react except to turn away and leave her with only her own apartments as she closed the curtain.

Her bedroom was technically no more than a loft on the King’s suite, but was modest in name only. All of her apartments took up the better part of what they still called the Queen’s Tower, and a wall between her bedchamber and his was the only missing luxury – one neither very much missed.

A glance out the window told her it was far later in the day than she ought to have slept. She would have definitely been woken already if she hadn’t been with His Majesty the King. That thought caused her to smirk a little, though she didn’t like to make them worry.

Taking a guess, she called “Come on in” toward the servants’ entrance at the north end of the tower. Unsurprisingly, a tiny swarm of people came flooding up the stairs and the bustle instantly began. Clothes left their wardrobes, a bath was drawn somewhere behind her, and Vincent was staring at her more than a little reproachfully.

“Good morning to you as well, Vincent.”

“Your Royal Highness, I suspect I don’t need to tell you how important it is that –”

“No, you don’t.”

He bristled. “We don’t have much time and it is imperative that you—”

“No use arguing about it now.” She watched his face, searching for some way to respond to this that did not seem insolent. He let himself frown and quickly found something in the room to attend besides their conversation.

This was one of many parts of her day when she became almost released from her body – it was given over to servants and their gentle nudges, deferent little suggestions of how it should move and in what way, until it no longer seemed a part of her.

Eventually she was ready, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pale pink gown – appropriate for the spring festival, and, coincidentally, a favorite color of her husband’s – with a lace bodice and a straight, flowing skirt. Her hair was pulled half back in a loose but controlled knot, pinned with a golden rose ornament she had seen a servant handling. On theme again.

She was to enter with the King, who was preparing or being prepared far out of her sight at the moment. They would only meet just before they made the entrance into the main gardens, from which he would speak and she would stand, beautiful and regal and, more important than anything else, beside him.

Vincent was still tapping his foot when she descended the staircase, a handful of the servants from the room trailing behind her. He was too discreet to make any expression at her attire, but she was observant enough to notice him studying the ensemble for apparent flaws. He must have either found none or thought better of revealing them.

Elizabeth met the King at the entrance to the gardens. His normal attire was fairly muted and dark, but today he was also in light colors. He offered an arm and she took it.

“Ready, my lord?”

“Ready as I’m able.”

They stepped into the garden together, blinking in the sunlight. There was a roar around them, cheering and the general sounds of the crowd. She released his arm and held back as he stepped forward to the large flowerbed at the edge of the garden’s balcony. People were packed into the gardens on every level, straining to see.

A servant was waiting for him at the edge of the flower bed, holding something. The King took the tiny sprout, barely beginning to show color, and held it gingerly. He planted it and gently tucked it into the soil. It would become the eighty-first rose in the bed, when it bloomed.

A cheer erupted, spreading backwards as the people too far away to see became aware that it was done. The roar died down enough that the King turned to address the crowd.

“Today is eighty-one years since reunification. We honor what we lost, celebrate what we have, and look ahead to a prosperous future. May the kingdom remain as one.”

The last line rumbled throughout the crowd, echoed at different times by those assembled. The cheers followed, and just like that the ceremony was over. She took her place at his side again and they made their way to the celebration arm in arm.

It was not a celebration for them, but as usual guests from neighboring lands were invited and present. Before long he was pulled away from her into political discussions that disguised themselves as idle chatter. She looked around for something to occupy her in the meantime.

“And this must be the rose of the festival herself.”

She turned toward the familiar voice and found Sir Theon grinning ear to ear. He had trimmed his beard since last they met, but otherwise he looked the same as always: angular features, bright yellow hair, and a roguish look in his eye.

She smiled in return, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it this year.”

“I would not dream of missing it. Not after an invitation arrived from none other than the Princess Consort.” He was invited every year, of course, but an opportunity for theatrics was never lost on Theon.

“I’m glad you’re here. I shall likely need you to rescue me from more than one conversation today.”

He nodded. “What is it about the Rose Festival that brings out the sycophants in droves? Perhaps it is because you never look lovelier all year, my lady.”

“Careful, now. If I didn’t believe you meant it I would need you to rescue me from yourself.”

He winked at her and offered an arm, and they began to explore the party together. They wove in and out of conversations, greeting courtiers personally, thanking visitors for making the trip, and echoing everyone’s celebrations. Theon was loud and boisterous, which made an excellent party companion for her. At a public event such as this, she often had quite the surplus of attention, and it was a relief to have any redirected.

She had lost track of him at one point, either greeting someone he knew or getting refreshment – she couldn’t remember which – when she became rather trapped in a conversation with a lord of some sort. He had quite a lot to say about the very fine details of the architecture which she could not and did not care to understand.

It felt like many, many minutes before she spotted Theon again, over the shoulder of the man to whom she was speaking. He was practiced at reading the plea in her face.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing as he gently wedged himself between her and the other man. “Forgive me for interrupting, but your presence is requested by His Majesty.”

She spoke quickly. “Alas, we shall have to finish this conversation later.” The man scarcely had time to do more than blink before she had walked off with Theon. They found a quieter spot on the edge of the crowd.

“Is it safe to assume I am under no such request?”

Theon looked at her with an exaggeratedly pensive face. “Oh, how silly of me. I’ve just remembered that the King does not need you after all.”

“A pity, honestly, I could use some pleasant company.”

“I cannot hope to replace His Majesty, of course…” He took a step closer. “But I may be able to help in that arena.”

“Here?” She glanced around. “Can’t you at least wait until later?”

“I leave tonight. Back north with my men.”

He did not often stay in the capital long, but less than one day was unacceptably brief. She took another glance around; no one was much noticing them. “At least find somewhere discreet.”

He grinned again, clearly having already expected this. He led her further away from the hum of people, into a sizable tent at the side of the grounds. There were shelves with supplies inside, tools to set up the Festival, but there was not a soul in sight.

She pulled him close and whispered, nearly pressed against him. “I still have appearances to make. I shouldn’t destroy my beautifully crafted face.”

He only smirked at this. Honestly, it was pointless teasing. Nine times out of ten Sir Theon would choose to turn his attention south, and she knew it.

Still, he bowed his head. “Of course, my lady.” Then he was on his knees.

He started with his hands, tracing a path up her inner leg from the ankle. He moved slowly, teasing her skin with the light brush of his fingers. He reached his destination and looked up into her eyes. Oh, how she loved that. She wondered if she looked the same when she looked into her King’s eyes. Pleading, wanting, but deferent above all.

“Proceed, Sir.”

He only undressed her to the extend it was necessary, tugging on her undergarments until she felt the open air. Then his fingers were playing about her. Gentle stroking more than anything, merely the preview of what could be had. Occasionally he slid a finger between her folds, light and fleeting. Her body grew warm. The agony of the teasing was beginning to take its toll.

“Am I to be kept waiting all day?” She leaned her head back against the shelf behind her.

He didn’t answer, only lifted the skirts of her gown every so gingerly to give his mouth the access he desired. Then he was vanished from sight and she leaned back farther to improve the angle. His tongue was clever in speech and perhaps cleverer here, though she’d never give him such a compliment. His ego did not need the fuel.

He let one of his hands find her rear, pulling her closer into him and fondling simultaneously. She felt as if he could take her whole weight in that hand, that she could lie back and he would still be holding her. He worked faster than before, and she was building in earnest now.

Then there was a noise from the back of the tent, past a second row of shelves.

Theon extracted himself from her skirts but stayed low to the ground, cocking his head toward the sound. She merely slumped against the shelves, heartbeat slowing and temper rising. She had been so close.

That was when he appeared, out from behind a banner half-stuck in the ground. A boy, perhaps 14. He looked terrified.

She merely regarded him. Theon rose to his feet.

“May we be of assistance?” His voice was bored, as if he’d just been interrupted during a game of croquet.

The boy turned white. “No, Sir – Your Majesty – milord –” His eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure to whom he owed his attention.

She stood up to her full height and placed a hand gently on Theon’s shoulder to indicate she was taking over.

“What’s your name?”

He shifted his weight. “Harold.”

“Well, Harold, you seem like an honorable man. I’m certain I can count on you not to spread any rumors of what you thought you saw here.”

He blinked a few times, then went pale as understanding arrived. “Oh, no, Your Majesty, of course, I would never –”

“Excellent.” She smiled: her softest, sweetest Princess smile. “You have my thanks, Harold.”

The boy positively beamed. She kept eye contact with him, and, after a moment when he did not take the hint, Theon made a small shooing gesture. Harold looked flustered, bowed as low as he could go, and made a hasty exit.

Theon turned back to her, smirking. “You might have killed him.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. “He should not be so easily rattled if he intends to get anywhere in the palace.”

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.” The last words dripped sarcasm.

“Oh, hush,” she snapped. “He’s a boy, of course his etiquette isn’t perfect.”

“I seem to remember a younger Lady of the court being much more severe about her ‘Royal Highness’es with me.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him close. “That is because a young knight needs to address his betters properly, and should know well enough to do so.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away at the last moment. “Face, remember?”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness.” No irony in the title now. “Shall we continue?”

She grabbed him before he reached his knees, gently pulling him up with a sigh. “No time, now. I can’t be away too long.”

He clasped his chest dramatically. “An arrow to my heart!” he crooned. “And on the day of the Rose Festival!”

She hit him lightly on the shoulder, though to no real purpose. She liked the teasing and he knew it. He stayed behind as she exited the tent, waiting to leave until they would not be seen together.

It was a little silly that they were being this cautious. Everyone who would care already knew, and no one who would dare had anything to say about it. Still, gossip at court is never one’s friend, no matter how harmless it begins.

By the time she returned there was music in the air; people were beginning to dance. Without warning, her husband appeared at her side. He held out a hand, inviting her to dance. She took it and followed him to the floor.

His face was all charm, but there was something of an air about him. It sped up her heartbeat as she let him guide her across the dance floor, gripped firmly in his arms.

“Did you enjoy Sir Theon’s company?”

It wasn’t clear whether he had spotted them or simply guessed at her interrupted plans by probability. “Not as much as I might have. We had unexpected visitors.”

“I would almost call it a pity, except that I’m rather glad to have you to myself again.”

She smiled. “Is my lord jealous?”

He laughed, soft and sweet. “How could I be jealous? There is nothing Sir Theon has that I do not.”

“Except, perhaps, my company. If I am with him, I am not with you.”

“Your reasoning fails to account for a simple fact.”

“And what’s that?” The conversation paused as he pushed her body away, spinning her round in a twirl that fluttered the folds of her gown.

“If you were to find yourself in Sir Theon’s rooms tonight, it would be as simple as my commanding you to return.” His grin had turned almost imperceptibly wicked. He had become very good over the years at communicating with her in small ways, invisible to the crowds.

Her heart had begun to race faster than the dance warranted, and she wished very badly she had not been interrupted in the tent. “And if I were to refuse?”

“My darling, I don’t think you would refuse, because you know that you are mine to command.”

She swallowed.

“In fact, you are thrice duty-bound to obey.” He pulled her just the tiniest bit closer. “As subject, your duty is to your sovereign. As Princess, your duty is to the crown.” He leaned close to her head, dropping to a whisper in her ear. “And as Consort, your duty is to your King.”

The dance had ended, suddenly. He pulled apart and she found herself lowered in a curtsy out of pure muscle memory. He was still smiling warmly to a casual observer, but a wicked glint remained in his eye. She struggled to keep the want out of her face.

She rose and took the arm she found offered for her. They made to exit the dance floor.

“I have never known you to be cruel, my lord,” she said, leaning over to him. “So I suspect and pray these are not idle threats.”

He met her eyes again, and laughed.


	2. A Gift

They sat on the couch in the outer parlor of his apartments. She was straddling his lap, gently kissing as he held her. His lips were soft, though the rest of his body was unyielding as always.

He pulled away slightly to whisper, “My dear…”

She didn’t like the sound of it. Nothing good usually followed. She turned her attention to his neck to let him speak, careful not to mark his skin.

“It will have to be an early night for me,” he finished, not quite letting his increased rate of breathing affect his speech.

His meaning was clear. Regardless, she kept kissing his neck and cheek. “How early?” she muttered, leaning closer into him.

“You know how early.”

She ignored him, nibbling on his ear. He leaned into her touch for a moment or two longer, allowing her hands to stroke his shoulders. She thought she might be winning.

Then he pulled back more firmly, and gently set each of her arms to her sides. “Elizabeth.”

It was as good as an order. She swung herself off of his lap and stood, though she did not attempt to hide her pouting.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” he said, warmly. He stroked one hand through her hair. “You know I don’t set out to disappoint you.”

She softened her expression. “I know.”

He seemed to ponder a moment. “Perhaps I shall give you your birthday present early.”

That was curious. Her birthday was not for another two months. She was rather shocked he had thought that far ahead, what with everything else occupying his mind.

He kissed her one last time on the lips before he took her hand and led her out toward his receiving room. One servant was there when the entered, and he bowed low at the sight of the King.

“Fetch Jonathan and tell him to bring his prize.” The man left at once.

She smiled as she squeezed his hand. “Perhaps I should pout more often. I could earn several birthdays a year that way.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Doubtful. But on this occasion, I happened to have something that would take care of your problems.”

Now she was properly intrigued. Any of her problems at present could only be solved by quite an exciting gift indeed.

Jonathan entered after a short time. He didn’t appear to have anything with him. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid the preparations we discussed are not quite complete—”

The King raised a hand, and Jonathan was quiet instantly. “How far along?”

“Nearly there, Sire, but not yet suitable for Her Royal Highness…”

“But serviceable?”

He nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

The King turned his face to his wife. “What do you say, my dear? Serviceable now, or suitable later?”

She knew the smile on his face well. He knew how curious she was and how impatient she could be. As if she would choose in this moment to wait another few months for something so tantalizing. Her gaze turned to Jonathan. “Bring it in.”

He did not look happy, but he bowed and took his leave. Elizabeth did not know what to expect precisely, but any of her guesses would have been wrong.

Jonathan returned leading a tall, lean man behind him. He had golden-blond hair and deep brown eyes, and he was well-muscled. Easy enough to discern, given he wasn’t wearing a shirt – only a short, plain pair of pants. And the final, most interesting piece of clothing; a leather collar around his neck, attached to which was a thin chain that Jonathan was holding.

The blond man knelt immediately at her feet.

“What manner of gift is this, my lord?” She looked back over her shoulder to the King.

“On our last visit west we encountered a marketplace. This gift represents the finest of the merchandise for sale.” He held out one hand toward Jonathan, who offered up the end of the chain. There was a short lead attached. He placed it in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle. “We heard it said that Garn is known for their pleasure slaves.”

Her heartbeat quickened. Elizabeth had heard this, too, perhaps long before her husband. It was the sort of gossip she was desperate to hear and Theon was eager to share. Still, she had not expected she could believe her eyes until the King had confirmed it.

She turned back toward the man, who was still kneeling, still and silent. “Stand, please.”

He rose immediately, keeping his head bowed. She had an even better view of his physique now, which did nothing to slow her heart. He looked strong – the thin chain was obviously symbolic, as he could likely rip it apart with his bare hands. Instead, he stood completely still. She made a slow circle around him, admiring every angle.

She turned to throw her arms around the King’s neck, kissing him lightly. “This is the best not-quite-birthday I’ve had in years, darling.”

He smiled, and when he spoke his voice was low and intimate. “Are you still disappointed in me tonight?”

She only laughed and kissed him again, harder this time. When they parted he made for the door to his bedroom. “I shall have my early night, my dear. I suspect you will want some time to play with your new toy.” Then he was gone.

Her attention turned back to Jonathan, who had been dutifully ignoring their exchange. “What did you mean when you said preparations weren’t complete?”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “Nothing to worry about, ma’am. All’s taken care of in terms of health. The King had asked for some, ah…aesthetic changes to be made before he was presented to you. And I haven’t had as much time to teach him as I would like.”

She cocked her head. “Meaning?”

“He was trained in pleasure and obedience when we acquired him, but I had hoped for some more time to instruct him in our culture. And,” he cleared his throat again. “It had been planned to instruct in some of Your Highness’s…tastes.”

She smiled even more brightly. “Oh, don’t worry. I shall handle that now.”

He bowed. “As you wish.”

“Leave us.”

Then she was alone with the slave. She took a seat in front of him, idly holding the lead. “Do you have a name?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You shall address me –” she stopped. On instinct she had been about to correct him on her title. “On second thought…that will do.”

Still…some decorum must be preserved. “If there are others around you shall address me as ‘Your Royal Highness.’ Understood?”

He nodded.

“Good. Now, you haven’t told me your name.”

“They called me Wren, Mistress. If you prefer another name –”

“No need. Wren will be fine.”

“As you say.”

The King’s words were buzzing in her head: your new toy. “Tell me about your skills.”

He went through his list in an orderly fashion. “I am at my Mistress’s disposal for whatever she requires. I have been trained foremost for pleasure, but I can perform almost any household task. I know how to read and write. And of course if Mistress requires any services I cannot provide, I will learn them. I am a quick study.”

A pleasure slave was not only that, it seemed.

She stood again. She reached out her finger tentatively, stroking his cheek. He did not pull away. When she wrapped her fingers in his golden hair, he leaned into the touch ever so slightly. It had been obvious from the first second that he was obedient, but she did not expect him to be quite so pliant. Or -- based on how his body reacted when she touched him -- willing.

“Do you like that, Wren?”

Her hands were stroking through his hair now, and his half-closed eyes snapped open. “Yes, Mistress.”

She smiled. “Come with me.”

She led him out of the receiving room and toward her tower. He followed her without question. Once in her room, she lay across the bed. He stood waiting at the foot; she assumed he was waiting for permission to lie down. She had a better idea.

“Take off your clothes,” she ordered. “Clothes” was a bit of an overstatement – his pants were off efficiently and then he was bare. She took a long, lingering look. Not much had been left to the imagination before, but she took her time on every part of him now. Lean, taut, still – but anticipatory.

After a good long look, she rolled off the bed, ready to get undressed herself. Or, perhaps… “Now me.”

He approached her slowly, gaze lowered, and began his work. It was nothing like being dressed by her usual servants. They were polite, but efficient and mechanical. Wren knew better.

He began with her hair. Though it had come slightly loose in her time with the King, it was pinned up with several silver clips. He removed them one by one, taking care not to tug her in any way or let the loosened hair fall in her face. When he had a handful of pins, he set them on a table nearby.

He returned to her, this time at her back. His hand undid her laces – again, slowly. Lovingly. She felt the bodice loosen strand by strand. Before too long, the gown fell to the ground around her feet. He went to his knees, waiting for her to step out of the puddle of skirts. When she did, he picked up the garment and laid it carefully to the side.

She was left in her undergarments and shoes only, an odd but somewhat striking combination. He dropped to his knees again at the foot of her bed and gestured toward it. “If you would, Mistress.”

She sat on the foot of the bed, looking down on him. He started on her right shoe, undoing the fastening. Holding her ankle so she need not exert any effort, he slipped the shoe off her foot. Then he placed it on the ground. She may have imagined, but his hands seemed to linger a second longer on it than necessary.

When he repeated the process he made to get up, to put the shoes away. “Wait,” she said, and he sank back to his position on his knees, expectant. She raised a leg, offering her right foot. “Is there something more you’d care to do, while you’re here?”

He remained still, though trembling now. His voice came out very quietly. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Go ahead.”

He took her foot gingerly in his hands, treating it as if it were very fragile. He bent his head and kissed it right in the center, reverent. She exhaled contentedly. Then his lips were on her toe. She pressed further into his mouth, which he correctly took as permission. He became enthusiastic, sucking and licking. It felt incredibly tender. She glanced down at him, focusing all his attention on this one small part of her, and the heat in her belly grew more intense.

She withdrew her foot suddenly. He let it go without protest, though looking slightly forlorn. “Come here,” she commanded. He crawled onto her bed, positioning himself on top of her. Once he was in place she grabbed the chain on his collar and pulled him down into her. She kissed him, hard, and he matched her enthusiasm. She pressed her tongue between his lips. He was obliging, succumbing to her movements. She gripped the chain tightly. She laid back her head on the pillow and he followed, kissing her more fiercely.

She pulled up for air, and his lips traced their way down to her collarbone. It was a strange parallel of her interactions with her King, earlier, only with the roles reversed. He continued kissing her, gently, though with increasing speed as she leaned into him. Between gasps, she managed: “Take me.”

She thumbed her underwear off roughly. When she was free of it, he moved himself into place. He kissed her lips again as he entered her, carefully, checking for pain. She gripped his backside and thrust herself onto him. He had significant gifts; she closed her eyes and focused on the fullness. He began to thrust into her rhythmically. He was clearly concerned more with her pleasure than his release. Trained in Garn, indeed.

Eyes closed and focused on the rhythm, she did not notice his hand until it was already there, playing with her nub. Oh my word. His strokes were deliberate, in time with his thrusts. He seemed to know just where to go. Her smallest reaction produced a reciprocal adjustment. It was as if his only thought was to please her. She felt the pressure mounting. His nimble fingers sped up their attentions, and she tensed….

And released. She sank back in warm satisfaction and, immediately, he had withdrawn. He knelt on the end of the bed now, still hard.

She laughed low. “You are well trained, aren’t you?”

He did not know how to respond.

“I meant it as a compliment, Wren.” She stared at his naked form; he was certainly uncomfortable. “Go ahead and relieve yourself.”

His eyes widened. “Oh no, Mistress, I need not, I only want –”

“Now.”

He bowed his head and took a hand to himself. She laid back against her pillows and watched him, his look of concentration. She felt that he was attempting to work as fast as possible.

“No need to rush. I enjoy the show.” He met her gaze, briefly. After receiving this affirmation, his pace slowed considerably. He arced his back to present a better view. She relished the way he wanted to show off for her.

Finally, his release came. He let himself go and sat back on his knees.

She laughed. “What a present indeed,” she muttered, under her breath. The King was close enough to have heard them, if he weren’t already asleep. She pulled the slave closer, setting him behind her and wrapping his strong arms about her waist. Before long, she was asleep.

***

She woke to sunlight streaming in her windows. She was tucked gently under fresh blankets -- no residue of the night before. And Wren was no longer at her back.

She lifted her head and found him kneeling at the side of her bed. His eyes were closed, though one couldn’t tell if he were asleep. When he heard her stirring, his eyes opened, and he bowed his head.

She examined his posture. “Have you been there all night?”

“I would not presume to sleep in Mistress’s bed without permission.”

She almost laughed. Of course he wouldn’t presume.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

To her surprise, he shook his head. “No, Mistress. I am trained to hold this position for long periods of time. It feels quite natural to me.”

It did not seem at all natural to her, but she trusted he would not lie in response to a direct question.

She sat on the bed and regarded him. “Was that your first time?”

He paused. “No, Mistress, I’ve had extensive training in the means of pleasure. Was my service unsatisfactory?” His gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“That’s not it. You seem so eager, is what I mean.”

His cheeks turned slightly redder. “I am…excited to use my skills in earnest.”

Something dawned on her. “You’ve not been owned before.”

He only nodded.

“As lovely as you are, I find it hard to believe you were not snatched up first at every market.”

“My looks are the reason,” he said. “The masters saw fit to select me for particular training. We are reserved for a certain class of buyer.”

“Such as a king?” She felt a smirk on her lips.

“Yes, Mistress. Such as a king.”

She paused a minute. Didn’t he know? “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

He looked confused. “Mistress?”

He really didn’t seem to know. Jonathan had said he hadn’t finished his teachings, but it had not occurred to her that this might be included. She laughed, then. There was something so delicious about his deference being not to his Princess, but to his Mistress alone.

His face had evolved from merely confused to concerned. “Please, Mistress, how can I serve you?”

She gave her answer by pulling his face in and kissing him again.

***

“Your shot has improved, my lord.”

Elizabeth sat in a large tent with Lord Rhone, sipping wine and leaning back into her aching muscles. They had been hunting partners many times in the past, more often when one of them needed something from the other. Today was no different.

He stretched his neck. “If you seek to flatter me, my lady, you might pick something believable.”

“I said it had improved, not that it was any good.” She smirked at him and he smiled gently. They were both spent and soiled, wine and adrenaline doing the necessary work of loosening decorum. There were sounds outside of horses and hounds being wrangled for their return.

“Shall we get to it? I know for certain that the stag was not the only game you set out to catch.”

“And I know for certain you did not travel all the way from Cammasse for a social call.”

He took another sip. “I enjoy it nonetheless.”

“As do I.”

“So this is only a social call?”

“Oh that it could be. Alas I do not have the time for purely social calls when my mind is at the border.”

“Ah, there it is. The southwest border, one presumes?”

“Well guessed, my lord.”

A gust of wind blew through the entrance of the tent. “And what could preoccupy Your Royal Highness at my doorstep?”

A moment passed as she took another sip, trying to find the correct words. “Crossings have been difficult and disorganized of late. Cargo and dignitaries have been detained while brigands have slipped through unnoticed.”

“Surely my lady is not assigning blame to Cammasse.”

“Not at all, my lord. But the confusion may lessen if the forts at the border were…managed in tandem with one another.”

“Managed in tandem?” He frowned.

“You know what they say, my lord. A kingdom cannot balance with two heads upon its shoulders. So too does an effective guard struggle under split leadership.”

“By which you mean you want all of the forts garrisoned by the crown, including the ones my men currently hold.”

“Ideally, yes.”

He shut his eyes and rest his forehead in his hand. “You cannot compel me to cede them.”

“No, I can’t. Nor would I endanger our relationship that way if I were able.”

“But you are hoping I will acquiesce nicely.”

“You know very well how generous the crown can be when its interests are upheld.”

“I am fortunate enough to enjoy prosperity that does not want for the crown’s generosity.”

“Indeed. But is there nothing else you could stand to gain from having the King’s ear?”

He almost smiled. “I don’t have the King’s ear at present, my lady.”

“No. However,” she leaned forward, hands on her knees, and looked him in the eyes. “Short of a formal audience – which you will not seek and cannot attain – you have the closest thing to the King’s ear extant in the kingdom. Do you plan to use it?”

He sighed, and she knew all at once she had won.

***

“What did you promise him?”

She sat brushing out her wet hair in her own room, clean at last of sweat and dust. The King stood at the window, leaned wearily against the wall and gazing out at nothing in particular.

“You know I don’t make promises, only invitations to cooperate.”

“Of course. And what was the invitation?”

She coiled her hair atop her head, piling it away from her neck. “Lord Rhone has a rather unimpressive son who lacks the aptitude for politics. He thinks the boy has the tenacity to make an acceptable knight, if given the right opportunity.”

“We do not have squiredoms lying around in excess.”

“As I told him. However, we do have plenty of use for a tenacious but unimpressive guardian at the city gates.”

The King turned from the window. “He accepted this?”

“I was very persuasive about the opportunities for a patrolman who proves his mettle.”

He smiled now, crossing to her and planting a kiss on her fresh-scrubbed forehead. “I sometimes think you could persuade a dog to walk on its hind legs.”

“Only if it had something to offer me, my lord.” She stood and kissed him quickly before making her way to the wardrobe to dress.

“What of Cammasse?”

“Your troops are already en route.”

“You are extraordinarily efficient, my dear.”

“I don’t care to dawdle over such things when I have many better ways to spend my time.”

When she met his eyes again, she suddenly closed the wardrobe door. It seemed she would not need her clothes just yet after all.


	3. Attendant

“You will not speak unless spoken to,” she instructed.

Wren was kneeling in front of her, head bowed, as she paced back and forth. She had called him out of his room, which was little more than a hastily converted closet. She was not at all sure about this.

“You will not address His Majesty unless answering a direct question, and then you shall –” she paused. What would he like? “Then you shall restrict your answers to ‘Yes, Master’ and ‘No, Master.’”

He was still, betrayed no reaction, but was clearly listening.

“And this is most important of all,” she started. “Look at me.”

He raised his gaze to hers, deep brown eyes expectant.

“You will obey him as you do me. Should he give a command, you will obey without question.”

He remained quiet.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. I shall obey Master as I do you. I shall not speak unless spoken to.”

She nodded. “Alright then. I will summon you when you are needed.”

With that, she pulled back the curtain separating her bedroom from the King’s. He was nowhere to be found. She made her way down and lay on his bed, one arm over her head, waiting.

It was not long before her husband entered. He seemed weary, but his expression brightened when he saw her waiting. She had chosen a red silk nightgown for the occasion. Very short, no undergarments to speak of. She sat up on her wrists as he entered.

“Your Majesty,” she purred. She did not often call him that.

He smiled in earnest now. His worry washed off as he climbed into the bed, leaning down to kiss her. She removed his outer jacket as she leaned into his touch.

“Now that I’ve seen this, my dear, I think you ought to wear it for every occasion.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “And ruin the King’s reputation?”

He knotted her hair in his fingers. “Reputation be damned.”

He leaned into her again, pressing her firmly into the mattress as he kissed her and played with her hair. His actions were rougher than usual – more need, more passion, less restraint. One of his hands found her nipple through her thin nightgown, rubbing circles until it was hard and tender. For a moment she thought he had forgotten his request.

Not so. He pulled his head back and gazed at her from above. “Let’s see your man.”

She was slightly nervous, still, but it was too late now. “Come on down,” she called up the stairs. She watched him descend the stairs quickly and carefully. The King pulled himself to the side, sitting beside her so he could watch the slave approach. He pulled her lightly so her head was on his chest; they sat together as if they were watching a show.

Wren made it to the bed and paused, perhaps unsure what to do. She understood instantly why – if he knelt, they wouldn’t be able to see him over the side of the bed. He ultimately settled on standing, hands behind his back like a soldier.

The King said nothing; his fingers stroked her shoulder absentmindedly. If he were a different man, he might have been humming.

Finally, she grew impatient. “Well?”

“You’ve made some improvements.”

Wren’s body shifted subtly: he was pleased. Indeed, she had made some improvements. The instantly striking change was the collar – the last time the King had seen it, it had been a plain leather band around his neck. Now it was a much finer leather, in very dark green. A subtle leaf pattern was embossed around the edges. It still had a large ring at the front, but it was now in gold.

His hair was shorter, cut to accent the lines of his cheeks and jaw. And she had saved the final touch for last.

“Turn around,” she said. Across the majority of Wren’s upper back was now a large tattoo. Plain black lines created the shape of it; winding concentric circles interspersed with the same leaves as the collar. In the center was the only coloring -- a pink rose. The seal of the Princess Consort.

“It looks a little like yours,” the King said, stroking her neck. His thumb ran across her marriage mark, also a pink rose.

“Just so, my lord. Its purpose is to mark him as mine.” She cupped a hand over his, pressing the mark with him.

He raised his other hand to her neck and brought her in for a gentle, loving kiss.

“So,” she asked, pulling away. “What shall we do with him?”

He turned back toward Wren, standing patiently, having turned to face them again.

“When I give an order, should I expect it to be followed?”

Wren nodded. “Mistress has instructed me to obey you, Master.”

The King raised his eyebrows. His eyes turned to his wife’s face; she was beaming. She had correctly guessed that he would like the title.

“Very well. I have an idea.”

He stood up; she followed his movement and missed the warmth of him. He went all the way through the doors, entering the parlor and leaving the two of them behind. Wren met his Mistress’s eyes inquisitively, but she merely waited.

He returned shortly, carrying a chair with him. He placed it to one side of the bed and sat down. His posture was all business, suddenly.

“Join the Princess on the bed.”

Wren complied hastily, coming to kneel in front of where she was still reclined against the pillows.

“Closer.”

The slave went to all fours and crawled forward until he was positioned over her.

“Good.” His voice was honey. She had heard him give commands before, of course. Daily and often. But those were perfunctory at most. These he took his time with. She looked into his still, impassive face and saw a hint of the wickedness she so seldom got. “Kiss her.”

His lips were on hers quickly, and it was a peculiar and delightful sensation. She had kissed Wren many times, but this was different. There was an awareness that his actions belonged to the King; that anything she felt was at his pleasure. She took his mouth more hungrily, leaning into him and beginning to feel hot.

“Stop.”

He was gone in a moment. She had never before experienced how he moved when he forced himself away from her – he was stronger even than she’d imagined. Nothing about the situation was improving her lust.

“Place your hands on her side…yes, there. Now stroke as gently as you can.”

His fingers were whisper-soft, barely tangible through her nightgown. It was agonizingly close.

“Lower.”

They moved down her side toward her ribcage, gently playing about her skin, until he reached a spot where she was quite ticklish. A spot she knew _he_ knew she was quite ticklish. She let out an involuntary burst of laughter and squirmed away. “No, don’t!” she cried between laughs.

Wren’s fingers were immediately gone. He stayed where he was but stock-still, a look of worry in his eyes.

The King’s voice had a slight edge to it when he spoke. “I have not told you to stop.”

Wren’s posture seized up. His eyes moved quickly between the two of them.

“Ignore her. Heed me.” His voice was even darker now.

The poor thing was very unsettled now, so Elizabeth put a hand on his face to direct his gaze, nodding reassuringly.

“Yes, Master.”

“If she has something she wants, she may say it to me, and I will decide if I agree.” Her spine shivered all the way down.

“Yes, Master.” His posture settled, his expression calmed, and his fingers returned to her ribcage.

Her skin tingled with discomfort and a twinge of pleasure. She pulled away as far as she could, between his legs.

“Keep her still.”

He took his opposite hand to her wrist and pulled his knees tighter together, trapping her. Now she was forced to succumb entirely to the sensation, gentle and torturous at once. Another command, and his mouth was on her ribs instead, spreading out the sensation and making it that much worse.

She turned her face to her husband, watching intently in his chair. “You cruel, wicked man.” There was a smile on his face.

“Don’t tempt me, darling. I have not begun to be cruel.”

Her spine shivered again.

“Let her be,” he finally said, and Wren stopped. She sighed with relief.

“Well done,” he said. “I do love the sound of that laugh.”

“And the torture is a cherry on top, no doubt.” Her tone was sharp, but playful.

He only smiled.

She rolled her eyes, pulling Wren back to her lips by the collar. He was still for a moment, but no command came, so he reciprocated her touch. She could feel the eyes on her and let that be encouragement – she had never so equally kissed and performed.

“That’s enough,” he said, after a moment or two. “I have better ideas for that mouth.”

Wren’s face was longing.

“My wife has been very impressed with that mouth of late, I know.” He was looking at her, keeping eye contact as her breathing steadied. “I should like to see for myself.”

Wren began to retreat, sitting up enthusiastically.

“But first –” He stood up from his chair and made his way to the foot of the bed. He leaned over so he was beside Wren’s ear, and she was looking up at both of them.

“What do you think of your Mistress, boy? Do you enjoy serving her?”

Wren answered somewhat breathlessly. “Yes, Master.”

“Look at her,” he ordered.

They were both staring at her, admiring. She did not balk under their gaze; she was more than accustomed to being stared at. But this was different than a crowd of onlookers. The King’s face was lustful and devouring, while Wren’s was merely…reverent. Worshipful. She was not sure which expression stoked her more.

“Don’t you think she’s stunning?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you think you deserve such a Mistress?”

Wren swallowed. “No, Master.”

“Why is that?”

He remained quiet. He could have been thinking, except he didn’t look pensive, more…tense.

Then she remembered. “I told him he wasn’t allowed to say anything but yes or no, darling.”

The King stood up straight. “I see.” His hand reached in front of Wren, grabbing the ring on his collar. He yanked it down, sharply. His body doubled over, neck bent, and a look of pain came across his face. Obedient, he did not resist. The King leaned closer. “I thought I had made this clear. When we are in this room, you submit to me alone. If I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, with some difficulty. The King released the collar and the slave returned upright.

The King made a satisfied noise, and put his hand back on Wren’s neck, gentle this time. He stroked the spot he had injured, tenderly. Wren leaned gratefully into the touch, which lit a fire in her belly.

“So, tell me why you don’t deserve even to be in the same room as her.”

His eyes were on the floor. “Mistress is…exceptionally generous.” Not the compliment she expected. “She is rightly beloved by all. Lords and Kings and important men line up to seek her favor. I am honored that my Mistress finds use for me.”

The King glanced in her direction. “Go on.”

“I…am not worthy of her attention.”

“That’s not your decision,” she said, impatient. Wren’s eyes brightened.

The King ignored her, turning back to him. “How lucky you are,” he said lightly. “It seems she finds you worth her time. Perhaps you can prove her right.”

Wren swallowed. “I will try, Master.”

He leaned back, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “Then you have my leave to try.”

Wren fell to the bed with urgency, and she spread her legs for him. Though there was not much of it to speak of, the slave carefully moved her nightgown out of the way. She knew she was already wet, and she soon felt his tongue as he tasted her.

His training did not betray him in this arena. Occasionally, she heard the King’s voice, whispering directions. Every one of them was followed by a swell of pleasure – an unexpected nip of teeth or an especially delicious thrust.

Then the King walked around to the side of the bed. She did her best to ignore him, focused as she was on the man beneath her. Until, that is, the King leaned over her and began to kiss her hungrily. She clawed at his hair, desperate for something to hold on to as the tension built below.

She was barely aware of Wren, now. His Master had turned him into nothing but a tool through which he could act; there was no doubt that the King was the one ravaging her.

Soon she felt that she was approaching her end, a familiar pulse deep within her beginning to take shape. Her feet tensed as she built, nearly there.

“Stop.”

Before she had time to fully process the command, he was gone – they were both gone – and she moaned.

“You’re not going to leave me in this state!”

He pushed a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Is that a demand?”

She glared at him. “You devil. I should have known no good would come of this.”

A sound arrived from the edge of the bed. “Please...”

The both of them turned to look at Wren. His eyes were locked on his Mistress, and pained. “Please, Master. Let me…allow me...”

Despite the King’s demonstration that her orders no longer mattered, she was shocked that he had spoken out of turn. He was _desperate_.

“You dare to ask that of me?” His voice was calm; matter-of-fact. “I could punish you – or worse – for insolence like this.”

Wren was trembling, his voice barely audible. “I will accept what my Master deigns to give. But I beg of you. Please, Master.”

The King turned to Elizabeth, grinning his wicked grin. He leaned down for a quick kiss, biting her lip. As he pulled away, he looked into her eyes, but addressed her slave. “You have my permission.”

This time the King only watched her, looming above at her side, as Wren resumed his work. She groped for his head, finding hair and gripping it sharply. She pulled him toward her, into her, as they both moved faster. She met the King’s gaze and he watched as the wave crested, fell, and receded.

There was only the sound of heavy breathing for a moment. Her husband knelt beside the bed, meeting her eye to eye. “What do you say, my dear? Worth your time?”

She glanced down to where Wren’s head had come to rest on her thigh. She untangled her fingers from his hair and stroked his head gently. “Well worth.”

He smiled – not wicked this time, but pleased. Perhaps a touch of gloating.

“Very good, then,” he said at last, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “I hope you saved some for me.”

Her head fell back onto the pillow, and she laughed.


	4. Punishment

Elizabeth woke once while it was still dark. She found herself curled against her husband’s side, skin on skin and enjoying his warmth. Their ordinary posture, those nights they did share a bed. Apart from one small change – lying lengthwise at the foot of the bed, naked but for his collar, there was a beautiful pleasure slave. Her eyes lingered on him, completely at ease. She closed her eyes again, and the three of them fell back into well-deserved rest.

The next time, she woke well after the sun. This time she found her husband already awake, holding her, and Wren absent from the end of the bed. She frowned at the spot.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said from beside her. “You looked uncommonly peaceful.”

He must have been right. The evidence of her normal hectic and fitful sleeping was nowhere to be found.

“What did you do with him?”

The King only gestured toward the end of the bed. Elizabeth slid forward inelegantly until she could see Wren kneeling on the ground, head down.

“I’ve told you to lie down when you’re sleeping,” she chided. “Your supplication is no use to me unconscious.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he spoke softly. “I did lie down to sleep.”

She was puzzled. “What, then?”

“I was waiting for Mistress to wake, to submit myself for punishment.”

She sat up and swung her legs in front of her. The King was stirring from behind her, making his way to be in view of the conversation.

“Punishment? Whatever for?” She tried to think of something that deserved punishment, but everything he’d done recently made her more inclined to buy him a gift.

He clearly did not want to say it. “Disobedience. You forbade me to speak out of turn.”

She was utterly lost. The King had joined her side by then, wrapping his arm around her waist. “When he begged me to let him make you cum, darling,” he supplied helpfully.

She let out a chortle. “Now why would I be bothered by that? I rather enjoyed seeing you so desperate to please me.”

Wren tensed up further, which was not the reaction she expected. She frowned. “Speak.”

“I—” he cut himself off, and began again. “I am sorry for my insolence, Mistress. I heeded my own desires over your command, and I deserve to be punished.”

Her husband could see the look on her face. “Leave us. We will decide what to do with you.”

Wren rose to his feet and showed himself out of the bedroom. Elizabeth turned to the King. “Why would I punish him for that?” she asked.

“I have seen slaves returned to market for less.” His voice was solemn. “I have seen them executed for similar.”

“Executed? Dear god.” She could not imagine.

He sighed. “You did not register his disobedience because you liked where it led. He does not see it that way. He has defied you, and there is nothing more to it in his mind.”

She frowned. “What about you? Did he not also defy you?”

“Despite all my showmanship last night, he does not belong to me. He knows the difference.”

There was an unexpected thrill in the thought of that. It had been a long time since she had owned anything in her own right. But it did not address the manner at hand.

“You think I should punish him.”

“I doubt he will be satisfied until you do.”

“Satisfied?” She scoffed at the thought.

He smiled, as if she were naïve. “You are his Mistress, my dear. You have the power to take away his guilt, if only at the end of a whip.”

She thought a moment. There would be no whipping, this she decided immediately. She had disciplined men before, and she knew well that the most effective punishments targeted the things a person most valued. She had an idea. It was going to be a punishment for her as much as him, but the King was right; disobedience was owed its due.

She raised her voice. “Come back.”

He entered the room solemnly, taking his place kneeling at her feet again.

She hardened her voice, switching to her formal and authoritative tone -- quite unlike her usual manner of speech in the bedroom.

“Give me your collar.”

There was only a second of hesitation. His hands found the buckle that held it together and tugged, loosening it. It became a long line in his hand, only a strip of leather, and he presented it to her. It was incredibly odd to see him without it.

She took the leather from his raised hands and gripped it where he could see.

“This was given to my slave, but a slave does not have desires except to serve. You do not deserve it.”

She sat back on the bed, holding the collar firmly and calling for the guards from outside. They came quickly.

“Find somewhere to put him until further notice.”

With that, they each took an arm and half-led, half-carried Wren out of the room. He went silently. When they had gone, she fell back onto the bed, letting the regal stiffness fall away.

***

She waited two weeks, which was an eternity from her perspective. More than once she wondered whether the King would buy her another slave, if she asked, just for the time being – but she dismissed the thoughts as they came. If she was suffering, he was certainly suffering more, which was the point of the exercise.

When she finally did call for him, she had them bring him to an outer room of her apartments. He arrived freshly washed, though naked as when he’d left. He was already kneeling when she entered the room.

She ignored him a moment, pouring herself some wine. She took a seat in front of him, looking down on his bowed head.

“Look at me.”

It was clear he did not want to meet her eyes, but he complied regardless. His face betrayed some fear and quite a bit of shame.

“What is the use of a pleasure slave, Wren?”

“To serve his Mistress in whatever way she sees fit.” He answered quickly, as if he had rehearsed the exchange. It was possible he had.

“Does a slave serve his Mistress by presuming to know what she wants?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Does he serve her by disobeying?”

He took a breath. “No, Mistress.”

“Does he wish to gain her approval?”

His eyes darted away a moment, but they returned. “A slave does not have desires except to serve.”

Her words had hit their mark as she intended. She let a long moment of silence pass, drinking her wine.

“Good. I think you have learned a lesson. I am ready for my slave to be returned to my service.”

His body moved slightly, perking up almost like a dog offered a treat.

“You will have the opportunity to prove your obedience. Only after will I decide whether to claim you again.”

He was quick to hide his expression, but not before she saw a flicker of fear. She ignored him and rose from her seat, making her way to the large desk on one side of the room. Wren stayed where he was. Once she was seated she called, “Come,” without looking back at him.

He made to kneel beside her, but she held out her hand and he remained standing. Then she opened a desk drawer and removed a dark strip of cloth. He took it from her hand when she offered.

“Cover your eyes.” He blindfolded himself as instructed.

A candle came out from the drawer next. Plain and functional, but without a base or holder of any kind. She took his hand, which responded instantly to her touch, and wrapped it around the base of the candle. There was the flick of a match being lit, then the candle. She guided his arm to the position where the candle would give her the best light – not an especially comfortable angle for him, no doubt. He held where she released him.

“No matter what, you are to remain still.”

It was a simple instruction, but she knew it would become difficult before long. She set about writing, some correspondence she had been meaning to get to, and she left him there. A chance to prove which he would choose when obedience and his own desires conflicted.

He had possibly never been more still; more than once she became so absorbed in her writing that she forgot about him entirely until she happened to glance over or heard him take a breath. For the most part, he seemed nothing more than a candlestick.

She did intermittently keep watch on the candle itself. The wax began to drip almost immediately. Soon it was short enough that the hot liquid moved toward Wren’s skin. He could not see it coming, so he could not predict the pain.

The first time it touched him, he inhaled sharply. His breathing became quick and labored, but he did not move.

She scribbled away. The light was just where she needed it to be. Occasionally, she would hear his breathing change as melted wax slid down his skin, but his hand was steady. The light never faltered, and he did not flinch.

When the candle was very low and her work was finished to her satisfaction, she finally rose from the desk. It was well past midnight now. She felt tired enough to collapse, but Wren stood firm, though he had been standing for hours.

She could tell by looking his body was strained, and his hand was coated in a thin layer of wax. Still he was perfectly obedient. With a quick puff, the candle was out. She took the stump from him, and felt how warm his hand was. Then she set about cleaning his hand, wiping gently with a cloth and cool water. His skin was pink where the wax had been, and she paid extra attention to cooling those areas.

Finally she set down the cloth. The blindfold came off his eyes and he blinked at her, face foggy. She smiled warmly at him, approvingly, and his eyes brightened. “How well-behaved you are.”

A small gesture from her and he was on his knees again. He moved stiffly, wobbling slightly on tired legs as he went to kneel. She produced his collar from another drawer, and this time he did not manage to mask his facial expression. His eyes were wide with longing.

She moved deliberately, placing the collar on him and tightening until it was flush with his skin. His muscles seemed to relax with it on. Once it was back in place, he looked normal again. She took her hand from the collar to pet his head lightly. He closed his eyes.

“Do you have something to say?” she asked gently. Not demanding; curious.

He opened his eyes again and looked up at her. “Thank you, Mistress.”

With one last stroke through his golden hair, she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “Rest now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waited until he was out of her view, but she heard him collapse as he allowed his posture to relax at last.


	5. A Wager

She spun in a little circle. “What do you think?”

“I can hardly control myself,” the King answered.

She was in his bedchamber, modeling a fine silk shawl that had been given to her earlier that day. Foreign leaders often sought to win the King’s favor by giving her pretty things, and she did not usually protest. Of course, if she were to wear this piece anywhere else, she likely would put on more than it and her underclothes -- all she was presently wearing.

“That good?” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she came to straddle his lap, wrapping the scarf playfully around his neck.

He kissed her in answer, hands on her lower back. He lowered them both down as he kissed her further, down her neck and across her collarbone.

This was her second gift in recent memory from Garn. The first had been Wren.

“If I were a pleasure slave,” she said in a teasing voice, “would you care to purchase?”

“The moment I saw you I would empty my pockets. Though –” he seemed to think a minute. “I would regret it.”

A tiny gasp escaped her. “Regret it!”

He nodded, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Alas, my dear, you would make a terrible pleasure slave.”

“Now my feelings are hurt. How could you say such a thing?”

He moved quickly, rolling her over until he was on top of her. He pinned her wrists above her head. “For starters, I think I would receive quite a lot of lip.”

She reached up to plant a peck on his cheek.

“And boldness.”

She let out of puff of air. “You of all people know exactly how demure I can be.”

“That isn’t all, my dear. You are much too impatient. Following orders means a lot of waiting around.”

She did not have a good counterargument for that, though she did allow herself to pout.

“But by far the worst of it is your appetite.”

“Meaning?”

“You are positively insatiable.”

He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. “You think so little of me. These complaints are mere court gossip.”

He laughed sharply. “Gossip, you say. Is it gossip that you have taken your lord husband to bed more evenings than not of late?”

A pause; she bristled. “As is my duty.”

“But it is not your duty to spend the remaining nights being pleasured by your slave.”

“That hardly counts.”

“No? Does Sir Theon count? Lord Montgomery? The Duke _and_ Duchess of Sarlun?”

“All right, all right,” she said. “You have made your point. I yield.”

He released her wrists, intertwining his fingers with hers, and leaned down to kiss her. She allowed him, this time.

“Don’t feel down, my dear. I would rather have a cheeky, impatient, insatiable wife than the most beautiful pleasure slave there is.”

Her eyebrows knit together, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Quite right you would.”

They kissed a few moments longer. Then he rose and scooped her easily into his arms. “Tonight is a night for your own bed, I think.”

“How you lead me on.”

He started to ascend the stairs to her loft, holding her steady. “I’m afraid I cannot help you, darling, but I leave you in good hands. Shall I provide the list of names again?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You think you’re awfully clever.”

“Only clever enough that I’m sure you will think of me, whoever takes your bed.” He set her down with a kiss, then flashed a smile as he walked away. She sighed and briefly wrestled with whether to call Wren, finally succumbing to the urge. It was horrible when he was right.

***

They were sitting across the table from one another, enjoying a quiet breakfast. She fiddled with the handle of her teacup.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

The King glanced at her. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“About my being unable to control myself. Consumed by lust. Powerless against my passions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I said any of those words, my dear.”

She ignored him. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Yes, you said as much yesterday.”

“I am confident I could _prove_ you’re wrong.”

Now he was interested. He set down the piece of toast he had been eating. “What do you propose?”

“I propose, my lord, we make a game of it.”

A smile spread over his face slowly, close-lipped and sinister. “Set your terms.”

She had suspected that she could bait him with the thought of competition; she lingered over the details now that she had his attention. “The game is this. I will survive a month with nothing further than a kiss. If I can, I win. If I fail, you win.”

There was a bark of laugher. “It will be no fun for me if I win as easily as that, Princess. You could sooner sprout wings and fly.” He did not seem to register her frowning at him. As badly as she wanted to be offended, she could not quite feel ashamed. “Let’s have a real challenge. It will be a week, not a month — and you may kiss as much as you like, so long as you don’t reach climax.”

The way he said the words ignited something in her; the thought of secrets in the dark forbidden by the King was too salacious to bear. This may be harder than she had imagined. “I accept. If you want to lose that badly, I would not deny you.”

“And what are the stakes?”

Her turn to grin. This was her favorite part of the idea. “If I win, you will come with me to the chateau for an entire week’s time _and,_” she raised a finger, “you shall leave all your royal duties here.”

At first, he balked, but she saw him consider it. A week was not too long for him to be away, a fact she well knew. And her summer visits were usually lonely without him. His face was difficult to read.

Finally, he spoke. “Agreed.”

She was already captivated by the thought of it.

“But if I win,” he took a slow, agonizing sip. His voice became low. “It shall be one night at the chateau, during which I do to you whatever I please.”

She felt a heartbeat in her throat. “When have I denied you anything, my lord? What more could you wish to do?”

He laughed softly. “Oh, darling. If only you knew how many of my wishes I would never think of inflicting on my beloved wife.”

She went still, skin prickling.

“Do we have an accord?” His voice was again pleasant and conversational.

“We certainly do.”

***

It took no time at all for him to begin trying to bait her. The King seemed quite suddenly to be everywhere, and in every circumstance giving her a look that made her stomach twitch.

Finally it was nighttime, and she could get some peace. He liked to retire early in general, so she was fairly confident he would be asleep.

Instead, she found him reclined on a sofa in her apartments, reading a book, and not wearing a shirt. When she entered the room he turned toward her.

“Honestly, this is just lazy work,” she scolded. “I’m not a blushing maiden ready to faint at the sight of you.”

“No, I suppose not.” He sat up and rested his arms behind his head, the better to show off. He still had something of a soldier’s physique after all these years, and a few scars to prove his service had not been ceremonial. She looked deliberately away. “It was worth a try. Will you sit with me a moment?”

It was a trap, of course. But she did not like to pass up chances to enjoy his company in private.

“Oughtn’t you be asleep, my lord? Surely you have business in the morning.”

“On the contrary, my dear, I’m quite free. My morning plans have been rearranged.” He placed a hand on the seat beside her, inviting her again. She weighed her options and decided to risk it. He did not have nearly the effect on her that he seemed to think he did.

When she joined him, he tossed his book aside and put an arm around her. His fingers twirled around her hair, brushing her neck with soft little sensations. Was it possible that he was somehow warmer than usual?

“I hope you didn’t forsake your duties for this half-baked attempt to entrap me.” She found herself watching his chest rise and fall with his breath and made sure to look away from that, too.

“Despite evidence to contrary, I do once or twice a day allow myself to think of something besides you.”

“I’ll take that as an unbearably smug ‘no,’ then.”

He brought his face close to hers, brushing the skin of her cheek. She could feel his breath when he whispered. “If you truly could not bear my smugness you would never have married me.”

Against her better judgment she did not pull away from his touch. She let him stay at her neck, where he kissed her ever so lightly. “How do you know I did not marry you simply for advantage? Perhaps I detest everything but the crown.” Her voice was broken up occasionally by fractured breathing.

“I think not, my dear. I think you would have married me if I were a beggar on the streets.” His arm tightened around her, firm; almost possessive. His other hand had come to the neckline of her gown, barely tracing at the skin there. “But I have always known that the crown is what gets you going most of all.”

She could not find it in her to respond, leaning into his touch.

“You are quite simply addicted to power. Having it, surrounding yourself with it, playing with it.” His kissed her neck again and his hand slipped under her bodice. “You asked me if I was jealous of Sir Theon, but there is a simple reason I’m not.” One finger toyed with her nipple; she felt her spine straightening as breathing became more difficult.

“At the end of the day, I know I can feed your addiction better than anyone in the realm.” He spoke it directly into her ear, then nipped it with his teeth. She let a small gasp escape her. Perhaps she would be able to take him to bed without losing the wager. There were many other things that might satisfy her to some extent –

But he was gone. As quick as that, he had risen from the couch, leaving her breathing heavily. His voice was ordinary once more. “On second thought, I think you’re right that I should be getting to bed. Goodnight, my dear.”

He left the room without looking back, leaving her alone with her rapid heartbeat.

***

Wren had been a bit confused when she tried to explain the situation to him. He did not comment on the bet itself, but was less than clear about his role therein.

“I need you to keep me in check,” she’d said. “Don’t let me get carried away until this is all over.”

He had offered to simply stay away for the duration, lest she be tempted. It was a decent idea, but the last thing she wanted. If her husband was going to continue his teasing she would need an outlet of some sort.

So he had promised to rein her in, as it were. She did not think either of them would fully know what that meant until the time came.

She made her way slowly to her tower that afternoon, exhausted. She had half a mind to lie down, despite the likelihood that she would doze off and cause Vincent a heart attack. Her most pressing need was to wash and change out of her riding clothes. As she went to ascend the tower stairs a servant began to follow, until she held up her hand. Wren was robbed at present of his very best skills, but there was no rule against his giving her a bath.

When she arrived in the bedchamber she called for him. After a moment he still hadn’t answered, which was a moment too long for comfort.

“Where are you?” she asked, impatient. Both he and the rest of her retinue knew better than to occupy him when she was in repose. Something was odd about this. When she checked the small room that had become his, he was nowhere to be seen. Even his things were gone, the few that existed.

“Vincent!” Her voice came out louder than she intended.

The man appeared before long, looking distinctly unhappy. He would not meet her gaze.

“Your Royal Highness.”

His entire posture was tense; he appeared to be attempting to make himself smaller. Whatever he expected her to ask, he clearly knew the answer would anger her. And that could only mean one thing.

She took a deep breath. “Where is the King?”

Not the question he expected, she surmised. “In the office, ma’am, with orders not to be interrupted—”

“He will be interrupted by me.”

She stormed down the staircase and made her way to him. Indeed, the doors were closed, and two guards stood outside. They exchanged a glance as she approached but did not attempt to stop her. The doors swung open under her somewhat forceful insistence, and he sat at a desk writing something.

He did not look up. “I rather suspected you would come to call.”

“Where is he?”

The sound of scribbling was the only answer for a moment. Then, “Please tell me you left Vincent in one piece, he would be difficult to replace.”

“Where _is_ he?”

Now he set down his pen, turning in his chair to face her. “I’ve had him sent ahead to prepare the chateau for your arrival.” He smiled sweetly. “Along with the rest of your things.”

She clenched her fists. “This is _not _in line with our rules of engagement.”

He stood, utterly calm, and got close to her. “On the contrary, darling, this was to preserve the rules of engagement. It would be so easy for you to cheat with a slave who would willingly lie for his Mistress.”

“How dare you?”

“Think of it as my having removed temptation,” he said. “All the easier for you to win.”

“If you’re going to play that way,” she said carefully. “Don’t think I will refrain from the same.”

Infuriatingly, he smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

***

She successfully avoided him for a few days after that, which was necessary but awfully lonely. He likely had several more ideas for how to fluster her if she allowed herself to be alone with him again. Without Wren, that left her precious little company. At least, the company she cared for most.

As was bound to happen, duty eventually demanded that she see him again. She had agreed months prior to help him entertain a newly ascended young lord and his party from the furthest corner of the kingdom. They would likely not return to the capital for years or more, so the time to turn his fealty into outright loyalty was now.

It was appropriate for her to be there given her station, but her husband wanted her there for political reasons, as well. She often had more luck charming young lords than he did. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been happy to do it. That is, until the King had decided the nature of the game.

Vincent came to fetch her in her room, and he barely hid his shock to find her in her dressing gown and making no moves at all to get ready.

“Have you not been attended, Your Royal Highness? Where _is _that silly girl—”

“No, they tried. I sent them away.”

He spent a moment trying to regain himself. “You – ma’am?”

“I shan’t be going anywhere tonight, so I saw no need.”

He blinked a few times. “Ma’am, His Majesty has requested you join him post haste –”

“You may tell him that I am feeling incredibly ill and could not possibly join him tonight.”

Vincent stared at her, no doubt observing that she was the picture of health. She could almost see him thinking through what he was going to do.

“Go ahead. If he has anything to say about it he may say it to me.”

He nodded and bowed quickly, then he was gone. She found a comfortable position to wait for him to return, as she was certain this would not be the last of the conversation.

It was perhaps five minutes before she heard rumbling below her. He was coming from his bedroom, up the stairs. He might have damaged the curtain with how forcefully he opened it.

Vincent stood behind the king looking flustered. Fortunately for him, the King growled “out” as soon as they entered. The servant was happy to comply.

“I rather suspected you would come to call,” she said calmly, gazing up at him from her seat.

“You take liberties, Elizabeth.” His voice was quiet, but low and dangerous. “This is not part of the game.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord. I am all but on my deathbed.”

“Stop the charade. Clearly you’re angry with me, and perhaps I went too far, but this is a childish way to express it.”

She stood now. She was a few inches shorter than him, and had to look up into his eyes, but she stood her ground. “There is no charade, my lord. To attempt one would be tantamount to treason.”

His gaze was cold. “Don’t test me, Elizabeth.”

“If you truly do not believe me, by all means send me to the dungeon. A few days locked up alone ought to teach me a lesson.”

He stared back at her, but they both knew it was a ridiculous suggestion. She had never had occasion to defy him; he did not know precisely how to handle it.

“Fine. Have your way. I have guests and you, I’m told, could do with some rest.” His voice was bitter but he left her all the same.

When he was gone, she let herself relax. She had taken this round, at least. She would have to find some way to repair the political damage, but for now, she had won.

***

She had forgone dinner for that victory, so she woke early with a growling stomach. As she blinked away sleep, she found someone in her bedchamber she did not expect.

“Theon?”

“The one and only, Your Royal Highness.” He had been sitting away from the bed, but stood to give her a formal bow.

She threw her tangled blankets aside and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and embraced him. “What on earth are you doing here? I did not expect to see you again so soon. And,” she raised an eyebrow, “in my bedroom first thing in the morning.”

“Nor did I, my lady. My company is passing through the capital by chance. I would not ordinarily have any time to pay a visit, but…”

She narrowed her eyes. “But what?”

“Well, given that he is otherwise detained, His Majesty has asked me to look after you while you recover from your” -- he smirked -- “terrible illness.”

She swore a few times. “Of all the hypocritical, dishonorable tactics…”

“I can see this must be a serious illness indeed to sour my gentle lady’s mood so.”

She huffed at him. “You and my husband are both so extraordinarily funny.”

“I do count wit as one of my finer qualities, after wildly good looks and a charming amount of imprudence.” He took her face in his hand with that and pulled her in for a kiss. Oh, but she had missed this. The King was strong and gentle, Wren loving and deferent – each fine in their own way. But Theon kissed like he was desperate. Like every second was the last chance he had to see you. It was intoxicating.

She pulled away, not wanting to fall too far into the viper’s nest. “How long are you staying?”

“Not long at all, I’m afraid. We move out before sundown.”

“And one suspects you have no clue when you might return.”

He nodded. In a good year, she could see Theon perhaps three times. In a worse one, not at all.

“This is absolute torture. It’s like he planned for you to be nearby.”

“Are we sure he did not?”

“No. Not at all.” She sighed and pulled away from Theon, throwing herself down on the bed. “The trouble with being King is you have no practice losing. He is incorrigible.”

“So let him win.”

She raised herself up to gape at him. “Pardon?”

He leaned against the wall, easy confidence in the posture. “Let His Majesty win your game. He sent me here to tempt you, so be tempted. It will only take a single moment for you to lose, but if you decide you’re willing to let that happen, we can have the next several hours uninterrupted. It seems a worthwhile trade to me.”

She took another look at him standing there, handsome and present and extraordinarily rare, and it seemed a worthwhile trade to her as well. She had wanted to win so badly to claim the time with her husband, but that was easier attained than time with him. The only thing holding her back anymore was her pride.

“Oh, to hell with this.” She ran at him and pulled him by the shirt, taking his mouth. It was going to be a wonderful day of losing.


	6. Preparation

Elizabeth arrived at Chateau Belmonte feeling somewhere between crestfallen and excited. It was a small castle, if such a thing exists; a private estate meant only for residence, not for the business of court. It was on a northern peninsula, at the edge of the ocean. Unbearably drafty in the winter, but beautiful and peaceful in the warmer months. It had been her habit to spend at least a month here every summer.

What was quite unusual was that while she was arriving, most everyone else was leaving. A stream of people nodded and bowed at her as they passed, headed to the closest royal holding. The King had ordered every person off the property. Well, every free person – Wren was still inside. She and her husband were accustomed to little or no privacy, which meant that the King had not sent them away so he could be especially tender. There was a knot in her stomach, but butterflies, too. She was not sure how to feel about it.

She entered the building and was struck by how empty it was. No sounds at all of distant footsteps scurrying this way and that. It occurred to her she had not been truly alone in decades, if ever. Always there was someone just out of view.

The chateau was empty, but not abandoned. It had been made comfortable for her, and there was evidence all around that people had recently been here. The smell of fires that had just been put out, the breeze through a window left ajar. It seemed that everything was how she expected, so she climbed up the main staircase to her normal apartments at the back of the castle, overlooking the ocean.

She found them locked. Instinctively, she turned to call for someone, but she remembered all at once that there was no one here. She could not begin to guess where a key might be, even supposing one of the staff had not taken it. Until someone showed up, she was locked out of her own room.

That was when she heard something behind her. She nearly jumped as she spun around, but found only Wren moving quietly. She had nearly forgotten he was here.

He went to his knees. Instead of dropping his gaze, as he commonly did, he looked into her eyes. His expression was affectionate. “Mistress,” he said, by way of greeting.

His sweet, beautiful face made her realize she had missed him more than expected. She had been focused on trying to win, as fruitless as that had been. She came closer and combed her hands through his hair, stroking his head.

“You are a most welcome sight.” He shifted slightly, leaning into her hand. “This castle is unsettling when empty.”

He did not answer, but feeling his presence below her was enough. She lingered a moment before backing away again, gesturing to the door. “Do you know where the key is?”

“No, Mistress.” He shifted his weight on his knees as he said it. Her eyes narrowed; Wren had a superior knack for remaining still.

“Out with it.”

“I…heard the servants discussing as they locked it. An order from His Majesty.”

She made a small _tsk_ sound. She had not expected that “doing whatever he wanted to her” would simply be to annoy her half to death.

“They did not say why.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but Wren shook his head.

“Perfect.”

It wouldn’t do to fret about it; if the King had ordered it, he had a plan. And attempting to thwart or circumvent her husband’s plans did not ever seem to work out for her. So she turned around, back down the stairs with Wren at her heels. She found a comfortable seat in the parlor and sank back into it. It was not a long journey from the capital, but she found travel always wore her out.

Wren paused as she sat, not sure where she would want him. She was not sure either. She wanted to touch him after days of his absence, but she had a more pressing and less pleasant need.

“Before anything else, we have things to discuss.”

He stood in front of her, attentive as usual.

“You will need to obey him tonight. Whatever he asks.”

Wren nodded easily, and she wasn’t confident he truly understood. She wasn’t sure how to broach this.

“It will be harder than last time. I have promised him whatever he wants, and –” she paused. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “And even I don’t know what he’s planning. But whatever His Majesty says – and however I protest – once he is here, you will obey him.”

His face was slightly concerned, though he tried to hide it. He was rather adorable when he worried about her. “I very much suspect you will be ordered to do things that you would not ordinarily dare. But heed this: I trust him. He will not hurt me.” –_much_, she added, mentally. “I trust him completely, so if you do not trust him, you are failing to trust me.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And I very much want to know what his plans are. So tonight, you please me by doing whatever he says.”

He looked stiff, but his voice was confident. “Yes, Mistress. I will not fail you.”

She smiled. “Good boy.” She fell back into her seat, becoming more nervous with every second. “Now come here and soothe me, all this waiting is going to drive me mad.”

He was all too happy to comply.

***

It wasn’t certain when the King would arrive. The hours passed well into dark, and the nerves lessened as the minutes wore on. It became easier to fall into her usual habits. She had nearly begun to feel at ease when they heard the sound of the knocker on the front door.

Wren rose immediately to answer, and she glanced past him to the door. That must be him.

Indeed, he opened the door to find the King, completely unattended. Wren dropped to his knees, though the King merely swept past him into the foyer. He took a moment to look around, taking in his surroundings, before his gaze landed on his wife.

She watched him approach, the nerves returning. In a matter of moments, he had crossed the room and was kissing her fiercely, without so much as a how do you do. Surprised, she returned the affection. His tongue was nimble, and persistent, and far more assertive than she had known him before. He was pushing her whole body back into the seat with the action, taking her over like unclaimed land.

Then he pulled away, and his face was hungry. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, still reeling from the unexpected passions.

“Is your boy ready?”

Wren spoke from behind the King. “Yes, Master.”

He smiled. “Do you remember how this all started, Elizabeth?”

She felt a crease in her eyebrows. “Yes, our little game.”

He shook his head. “No. Before that.”

Her mind was blank.

“Let me remind you. I was informing you of all the reasons you would make a horrible pleasure slave.” He backed away, standing to his full height. “Well, I think we’ve proven this last week how right I was.”

She shot him a cutting look. It did not faze him.

“However, I don’t think you’re a hopeless case. That’s why we’re here.” He paused, lingering on the information he had yet to share. “For your training.”

Her stomach seemed to fall out. Training? What did that mean?

“Perhaps by the end of the night you will be able to control that cheeky little mouth of yours… or at the very least, that greedy little cunt.”

Her jaw dropped. “Pardon me, my_ what?”_

His smile vanished and his gaze was cold. She shrank under it. “You don’t have my permission to speak.”

She was too shocked to respond.

“Good girl,” he said. She felt as if her blood had warmed several degrees. “Now, are you going to behave, or do we have to begin punishments already?”

Her mouth opened to answer, but she snapped it shut at the last moment, nodding. The reaction seemed to please him.

“Any questions? You may speak.”

She doubted her urgent question, _what are you going to do to me?_, was likely to be answered, so she settled for a smaller curiosity while she still had her voice.

“Why did you lock the main bedroom?”

He rolled his eyes, though he seemed more amused than exasperated. “I will only answer your questions if you ask them properly, Elizabeth.”

She blinked rapidly. What on earth did that mean? Her gaze fell on Wren, who was standing a ways behind the King. Suddenly she knew what the King wanted.

“Why did you lock the main bedroom…Master?” The word was awkward and clumsy in her mouth, but he looked pleased. His smile made her feel warm again.

“Simple. That room is reserved for the Princess Consort, and Her Royal Highness is not here.”

_Ah, _she thought. _So that’s how it is going to be._ One night of whatever he wanted to do to her, those had been the terms. And whatever he wanted to do was not fit for his Princess.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Good, that’s settled. Now come here.”

His voice was especially condescending, as if she might misunderstand the simple instruction. She knew he was only doing it to rile her up; likely enough he was trying to bait her into misbehaving. The night was young, but she would not allow herself to cave that easily.

So she stood gracefully and made her way to the King, who examined her up and down. No lust this time, only concentration.

“I don’t think your attire is befitting your station.”

She was still in traveling clothes. Notably less elegant than her usual, but still unmistakably royal.

“What would you have me wear, Master?” It was a risk to ask, but he had locked her bedroom and she had no other clothes she could access.

“Something that will teach some humility, I think.” He turned to Wren and crooked a finger at him. “Strip her.”

To his credit, Wren was doing a very good job following the King’s orders without hesitation. Perhaps she had reassured him too well. His hands were at her back now, freeing her from her garments rapidly and efficiently. She kept eye contact with the King as the slave worked, determined not to become flustered.

Soon enough she stood before him completely naked. “Much better,” said the King.

That was a bit of a shock – she had expected at least _something_. It was only Wren and her husband, she should not have been embarrassed, but the situation still turned her blood cold. Even Wren was still wearing clothes, but she was completely bare. Luckily, she had the best possible practice at keeping her emotions off her face. She would not give him the satisfaction.

The King made no secret of ogling her. After a moment, he said, “Hmm. Something’s missing. Has the parcel I sent away arrived here?”

“Yes, Master.” Wren’s voice this time. A parcel? Maybe she was getting clothes.

“Bring it to me.” He vanished quickly, seemingly knowing where to go. The King used the time to make a small circle around her, observing and occasionally reaching out his hand for a touch on her skin. She stayed still, trying to remain composed and feeling equal parts humiliated and aroused.

Wren returned with a small parcel of brown paper. Not large enough for any substantial clothes, so there went that dream. The King unwrapped it, and this time even she could not hide the look on her face.

It was a gold collar.


	7. Service

_You have to be kidding_ was her first thought. It would have made it out of her mouth, past any and all concern for present rules, except that her heartbeat was too far up her throat for any speech at all.

“Turn around.”

She did. She felt him at her back and wondered if he could see that every hair on her body was standing on end. His fingers were exceedingly gentle as they moved her hair off her shoulder – he could have been helping her dress. But when he laid the cool metal on her skin, she heard a _click _in her ear that made her sure it had been locked.

“There,” he said, leaning close. He kissed her neck right above where the collar sat, mixing his warmth with the cold of the metal. “All mine.”

The King circled around her again, getting a good look. His eyes were still hungry, but the harshness from a moment ago was gone. He was having difficulty with this, she realized all at once. Not with being commanding, of course, but she could tell from the pace of his breathing that even he hadn’t expected to have quite as strong a reaction to this as he did. It was a magnificent thought – even completely at his mercy, she had an effect. She found herself smiling.

He caught her expression. “Would you like to see, Elizabeth?”

Speech was still too difficult, so she nodded.

He took her wrist and led her behind him toward a mirror on the wall. When they were almost there, he stepped behind her and commanded, “Close your eyes.” He led her carefully into position, and kept very close behind her when he allowed her to open them.

She had almost forgotten she was naked, but it was extraordinarily striking with him standing just behind her. The collar was nothing like a true slave collar – hers was almost jewelry. It was polished gold, tight on her neck. At the very front the two ends met in a tiny ring pressed flush against her skin, and from there was hanging a teardrop-shaped pink gem. His favorite.

She stayed quiet, but took a good look. She was not prone to stare at herself, but she could hardly get enough of this: between the collar, the contrast to the man behind her, and the King staring at her, it was a strong cocktail.

“Now that you look the part,” his voice was firm and steady once more, “let’s see if you can perform it.”

The King turned around and took the seat Elizabeth had recently vacated. He was relaxed, lounging, but somehow still had a presence that made her shiver.

“I’m in need of refreshment.”

Wren moved immediately – sensitive to any spoken desire, she supposed. He did not get far before the King said, “Not you, boy. You come here.”

Wren did. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was supposed to move.

He gestured to a spot beside him. “You will stay here and help with her training.” He leaned forward. “Whenever she does something a slave oughtn’t do, correct her. Don’t hold back. And keep count of all her mistakes.”

“What little faith you have!” She retorted immediately, unthinking.

Wren spoke as soon as she’d finished. “A slave does not speak out of turn or fail to address their Master as such.” His voice was polite, but firm.

“Little faith, indeed. That’s already two.” The King was smirking.

Elizabeth creased her brows, but kept quiet. He looked at her for a moment longer, already smug. The look was only going to get more insufferable if she kept making mistakes.

“A slave follows orders promptly.”

She was shocked to hear Wren’s voice again – orders? What orders? But she remembered when she looked at him. Refreshment. She turned and hurried to the kitchen.

This was not an environment in which she was familiar. She had perhaps spent twenty minutes in a kitchen in the whole of her life. But there had to be wine somewhere, and something with which to serve it. And that would have to be good enough for him today.

It took her a while to locate wine, figure out how to get it open, and find a suitable vessel. She felt silly fumbling with such a silly task, but she had never done it before. After pouring a glass with extreme caution, she made her way back to the parlor holding her prize.

Both of them had eyes fixed on the door when she returned. The King’s smug look had not lessened. Wren’s face was harder to read; perhaps concerned, perhaps disappointed. Predictably, he had a few things to say about her performance in the kitchen, which he listed quickly.

Then, the King: “My, you are slow.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks despite her best efforts. “Apologies,” she started, and just in time remembered to add, “Master.”

When she reached his side she hesitated for only a moment; it did not seem right to simply hand it to him. Instead, she carefully set the glass on the table beside him and took a step back. He looked pleased and it was all silent from Wren, so she might have done something correctly.

The King took a long sip from his glass, ignoring the both of them for a moment.

It was Wren who broke the silence again. “A slave remains still.”

Her attention snapped to him, not understanding, but his eyes were on her hand. It had found its way up to her collar, where she was idly scratching the skin of her neck. She dropped her hand quickly but knew it was too late.

The King swirled his wine in the glass. “Do you think you are serving me well, Elizabeth?”

Her chest felt tight. She spoke quietly. “No, Master.”

“Should I give you a chance to redeem yourself?”

The _yes_ was on her lips, but she had a better idea. “As you wish, Master.”

This caught him off guard – the smirk broke through to an actual smile, showing teeth. He took another sip from his glass, then gestured to the floor in front of him. “Come.”

She knelt at his feet, rather pleased with herself. He lazily extended one foot, and for once she knew the unspoken command; she had given it herself on more than one occasion. She set about removing his shoes, carefully but somewhat clumsily. When she had finished she stayed kneeling in front of him, supposing that might earn her some extra favor. Indeed, he left her there for some time, finishing his wine and looking unusually peaceful.

“How many mistakes?” the King finally asked, turning to Wren.

“Twelve, Master.”

“_Twelve?_” she couldn’t help exclaiming. She would not have imagined it was nearly that many.

The King looked at her disapprovingly. “Make that thirteen.”

She felt like she was sinking into the ground.

“Stay,” he ordered, and he rose from his chair and moved past her. Unlike Wren, she did not have any practice holding this position, and her muscles were beginning to whine with the effort. But she did not want to make it fourteen, whatever reason he was counting.

She could not see him as he returned, keeping as still as she could at the foot of his chair, but her body tensed automatically regardless. When he did sit down, it was as if she’d had a premonition. The King was holding a riding crop.

Before she had time to process that, his hands were on her. He lifted her bodily off the floor and dragged her across his lap. It took an intense concentration of will not to squirm away.

“One stroke for every mistake is fair, I think.” It wasn’t a question.

She shut her eyes as tight as she could. Thirteen lashes was probably not that bad.

The first sting came without warning. He didn’t make any sound as he drew the crop back, so there was just a hot line of pain across her backside. She yelped involuntarily. She thought she might get scolded for that, too, but he didn’t react.

The second lash was expected but no better than the first. He had blessedly switched sides, but that left the quick sting lingering on both sides of her. She was certain her skin was beginning to show marks already; it was not used to any such treatment.

By the third lash, she found that heat was growing in her belly along with the hot pain on her back and thighs. Each jolt of pain was followed with a warm release. There was a sort of ecstasy in the rhythm of sensation.

She lost count around 10. Tears were rolling from her eyes now and she was audibly sobbing when the blows struck. Only a few more, if she made it that far.

As quickly as they had come, she heard him announce “There. Thirteen.” And the crop stopped falling.

She tried to slow her breathing, tears still rolling down her face. It felt like half of her was a slow-burning ember.

Unexpectedly, the King lifted her and put her back in his lap, upright this time. He cradled her head against his shoulder as she continued crying softly.

“Good girl,” he said, gently. “That was very impressive.”

She felt warm all over. Her tears were slowing now, but she kept her head buried in his shoulder. His hands were gentle on her skin, caressing. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, but by then the pain had subdued to a mild ache.

Eventually, he turned his head to kiss the top of hers. Then he lifted her chin, kissing her mouth tenderly. She must have tasted terribly of salt, but he did not seem to mind. He pressed his forehead against hers, then looked her in the eye.

“Are you okay, my dear?”

It struck her that he had not called her that all night. It was obvious this was not a trick question. She nodded.

“Do you want to stop?”

Sitting on his lap, still reeling from the highs of the lashes, the last thing in the world she could imagine was trying to relax or sleep. If he had other ideas, she wanted a part of them. She shook her head.


	8. Patience

He grinned again, and resumed kissing her. Between kisses, he gruffly ordered: “Prepare the bedroom.” She felt her body twitch in response. Wren, whose presence she had all but forgotten, left quickly, and the King continued his attentions on her. It could almost have been a normal night, except occasionally his hand would brush over the collar on her neck and remind her. It made her feel a little warmer each time.

Then he stood, carrying her with him. She kept kissing from his arms, desperate to get where they were going. It felt like decades since he’d first arrived and she’d begun to feel a need. She did not notice at first that he still wasn’t taking her toward her own chambers. She didn’t think much of it; anything would do.

He laid her on the bed, brushing the hair out of her face. She kissed him more urgently, desperately. He pulled away and laughed quietly. “You are so spoiled.”

The King made a gesture over her shoulder, and strong hands were suddenly on hers. Wren forced her hands over her head smoothly, clasping something around her wrists. She was chained to the bed.

The King was rising, and she struggled against the bonds to follow him, whining softly. The position of her arms and the short chains on her wrists made it impossible to move much.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I’ll let you get off.” He stroked little circles in her thigh. “Eventually.”

As if she was not restrained enough, each of them took one of her ankles and gave them the same treatment, one chained to each side of the foot of the bed. She now had access to the slightest amount of wriggling and nothing more.

Again she found them both staring at her, again slightly different looks in their eyes. Although, Wren’s look was certainly hungrier than before. She whined again.

“What did I say?” he asked, voice mischievous. “Such a greedy girl.”

He leaned toward Wren and began to run his hands through the slave’s hair. Ever pliant, Wren all but melted into him.

“Perhaps I’ll leave you here all night and take my pleasure elsewhere.” He tipped Wren’s chin into his and kissed the slave. Lightly, at first, but it soon grew deeper. The King bit Wren’s upper lip and he made a small moaning sound she had only heard him make at her hands. It was almost too much to bear, jealousy and arousal and delight mixing in her stomach.

The King turned his head so he could meet her eyes. Wren adjusted immediately, kissing his ear and neck while he gave her his wicked smile. Then he took one of Wren’s wrists and guided it under his waistband. Now she was helpless and forced to watch her husband lean back his head, exhaling, while her slave worked him fiercely. 

“Please,” she cried, voice breaking.

The King nudged Wren’s head gently, and he began to kiss the King’s neck and jaw, tracing the lines of him worshipfully and continuing to play with him below. “What was that, Elizabeth? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

She did not have any patience left to be coy. “Please, Master, I beg you, please don’t leave me like this…”

Wren was still working, though the King’s attention was on her. “And why not? You’re here for my pleasure, not the other way around. This slave would not give me nearly as much trouble.”

“I can please you, too, Master. I can behave perfectly, I swear. Please…”

The King made a subtle motion and Wren stopped. “You are so pretty when you beg.”

He stepped back, and Wren withdrew his hand. “Alright, boy, this one wants to be used. Shall we give her what she wants?”

Wren smiled this time, and there was the barest hint of a gleam in his eye. “Yes, Master.”

“I think she forgets who she belongs to.” He stepped toward the bed, then straddled her helpless form. It was terrifying to be so close with so little movement, not knowing what he intended to do.

He bent himself down and she thought he might kiss her; instead, he veered away from her face to her neck. His lips found her collar and nestled under it. Then he pulled her skin between his teeth and she felt him sucking and biting. It was an intoxicating sensation, part pain and part pleasure, but her mind was distracted. He was surely leaving a mark. None of her lovers had ever gone as far as to mark her skin, not even him. And on her neck, too, where she had no chance to hide it.

“Your mind is elsewhere. I thought you wanted to please me?” He spoke into her neck and she could feel his breath.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Right now it pleases me to claim my property. So please me.”

She shivered, and a twinge of shame ran through her. “Yes, Master.”

“Good girl. No more words out of you.” He stood up and looked over her to Wren. “Help me mark her.”

Just like that, they were both on her. The King returned to her neck, on her right side, and Wren took to her chest. Her body wanted to lean away from both of them, but she was utterly restrained, and she would find no respite in any direction regardless. It seemed she could feel the skin bruising, feel her blood rushing to the spots.

Before long they had moved on. The King moved to her exposed underarm, and one of his hands came up to fondle her chest. Wren’s mouth took to the other side. The biting was in more sensitive places than before, forcing even more gasps out of her mouth. They were now at her chest and leg; now at her side and neck. There would be no part of her unblemished by the end of this.

She glanced down and could see some of them – purple bruises speckling her like paint. When she focused, she could even see whose was whose; a subtle difference in shape and size depending on whether it was given by Master or slave.

Finally, the King withdrew and Wren followed. She was panting, as if she had done any work. Her arms were getting sore now, though she dared not complain. And as pleasant as it was, the gifts she had just received did nothing for her libido. The King found his way to the end of the bed and admired his work. His eyes had gone slightly wide, and his cruel commanding persona had faltered slightly. He was beginning to be overwhelmed again.

“There,” he said, and his voice was stronger than she had suspected. “Now no one can mistake what you are.”

He had forbidden her to speak and she had not forgotten. Just as well, because the only thing that would come out would be incoherent begging. The teasing had to be over soon. He had said he would let her finish sometime. She believed he would keep his word. She hoped he would, anyway.

For now he was still surveying her and did not seem in any hurry to stop. His gaze fell on Wren, still and obedient, and he noticed the bulge in the slave’s pants at the same time she did. A glint entered the King’s eye, and she was flooded simultaneously with hope and dread.

“How many times have you pleasured her, boy?”

He hesitated. “I could not begin to count, Master.”

“As I suspected. I think it high time she returned the favor.”

Wren reacted far more visibly than he had all night. His eyebrows twitched and his pupils widened. He took longer than usual to make a sound. “Master?”

“I’ll be direct. I want you to use her hole to get yourself off.” He stepped to the side and took a seat on the chair against the wall, spreading his legs and lounging there.

Wren had gone slightly pale, but his breath has quickened. “Yes, Master.”

She looked away from his eyes, overwhelmed. All in one night, the King had taken her from a Princess to a slave to an object. Her throat felt hot.

Wren stripped quickly and was on top of her. Looking away, she found the King watching with rapt attention, stroking himself lightly.

Wren hesitated again slightly, poised above her. The King’s voice was bored from the side of the room. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure she’s wet already.”

The slave took that as encouragement. He grabbed her hips, forcing her into a better angle, and entered. Naturally, the King was right; her body was as desperate as she was. Despite everything else, at least she would get what she needed at last.

“One more thing, Elizabeth: you are forbidden to climax without my permission.”

The order had been “no words,” so she was not in violation when she all but screamed in frustration. She was not at all sure she could stop herself if the time came, and she wished badly not to return to the riding crop.

Wren began to thrust. It was nothing at all like how he usually moved; he was aggressive, quick, and careless. She burned slightly with the speed of it, but was powerless to adjust her position between this chains and his hands. Wren’s eyes were closed and, obedient, he was paying her no attention at all. She was merely a toy.

Her heart was beating almost out of her chest. If it went on much longer, she would not be able to stop herself. The King was moving faster too, enjoying the show.

The pulses quickened again, and the burn was becoming a sweet friction. The fire inside her was building. She contemplated letting the wave of pleasure come — perhaps it was worth the punishment.

She did not have time before Wren shuddered above her, and into her. Then she felt him go slack and she was left to throb around him. Wren breathed heavily, clearly satisfied. She bit her lip hard to stop her urge from building too far.

After a moment, he pulled out of her. _Perhaps now, _she reassured herself. What more could he be waiting for?

Her eyes were squeezed tight, but she heard the King’s voice. “Good boy. A perfect performance.” She could not see, but was certain Wren would like that. “Now come here.”

She opened her eyes, horrified that he was going away. But he was already gone; kneeling between the King’s knees and taking him in his mouth. She could only see the back of Wren’s head, but the looks on the King’s face made her situation that much worse. Her eyes shut again, but it did not help – now she was only more attuned to his breathing and low sounds of pleasure. She writhed against the bed, trying in vain to generate some friction.

It was not long before it was done. She heard a shuffling and dared to open her eyes again, finding the King standing and re-dressing himself, leaving Wren on the floor. His face was serene as he approached the bed once more, looking down at her.

“What do you say, Elizabeth – have we learned to be patient?”

She nodded frantically, on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know… I am not sure you’ve been good enough to deserve this.”

She could not be quiet any longer. “Please, Master…I’ll do anything, please give me permission…”

He sat on the bed beside her and leaned over, brushing her tantalizingly with his thumb. She was so incredibly close.

“Look me in the eyes and beg again.”

She met his eyes with difficulty, wicked and gleaming. “Master please, I can’t bear it, please. Have mercy, Master, _please_.”

He grinned very wide and put his thumb against her, stroking hard, and she immediately began to build. She could not stop this, she was going to be punished –

“Cum for me.”

And she did; wracked head to toe with spasms, straining against her chains at both ends. The waves rippled through her. She rode out the sensation for a long time, feeling nothing at all but the pulsing of her body, and finally the warm rush of relief.

“Thank you…” She heard her own voice as a whisper, hardly aware of herself making it. The entire night of effort seemed to hit her at once.

Suddenly she found pressure released from her arms, then her feet; the chains were coming undone. She managed to open her eyes and found the King on the bed again, looking at her tenderly this time. “Good girl,” he whispered.

Then he wound his hands around her neck. There was a _click_, and the collar came off.

***

She must have dozed off, she didn’t know for how long, but she woke again in the same bed. Wren was kneeling on the floor calmly, dressed again; The King was sitting beside her on the bed stroking her hair, and someone had pulled a blanket over her.

“How do you feel, my dear?”

She gave him a somewhat sleepy smile. “Never better.” He kissed her forehead.

“Did you get what you wanted?” she asked, coyly. “Have I met my end of the bargain?”

He rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. “I think you know the answer, but since you clearly long to hear it: absolutely, my dear. You have fulfilled this bargain and several more besides. You were better than I could have hoped.”

“Underestimating me as always,” she sighed.

“As you say, my dear.” He reached under her and pulled her into his arms, trailing the blanket with him. His eyes turned to Wren. “You may sleep here or in any of the other beds. I shall be taking my wife to our room.” Wren nodded, and the King began to carry her down the hall.

“Oh, am I your wife again?”

“Now and always,” he replied, looking down the hallway.

“Does that mean I’ve earned back my title, as well?”

“I suppose it does.”

She leaned into him. “In that case, one would think a gallant gentleman would entreat the favor of a Princess before accompanying her to her room.”

A corner of his mouth pulled up and he looked in her eyes again. “Quite right. Where are my manners?” He set her down gently, leaving her wobbling on her feet and clinging to her blanket.

“Your Royal Highness.” With a sweeping bow, he took her hand and gave it a sweet and delicate kiss. “Might I have the honor?”

She mustered the haughtiest facial expression she could manage, half-asleep. “You may indeed.”

With that, he swept her up again quickly, and carried her laughing into her apartments.


	9. Reversal

The first thing she noticed was the various pains all over her body. The cuffs had been padded, but her wrists and ankles were bruised from strain. Her legs ached from kneeling. Her backside still smarted from the crop. And her entire body felt tired and worn, weary from use. There was no opportunity to imagine that any of the events from the prior night had been a dream; the physical reminders were everywhere.

She was lying in her room at the chateau, midmorning sunlight pouring in the windows, her husband sleeping beside her. Now that she was up it was only a matter of seconds before he followed. She stayed as still as possible, watching him breathe, and his eyes fluttered open after moment.

She did not say anything, only snuggled against him. He wrapped an arm around her and was incredibly warm. They lay there for a while.

“When do you have to go?” She might as well ask sooner or later.

“Mm?” He seemed not to have heard her.

She adjusted her position so she could see his face. “When do you leave for the capital?”

“Ah. I had forgotten I told you I was only staying the night.”

That had her interest. “Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m all yours until the end of the week.”

He was smiling sweetly. It must have been a shock to him when she pulled away suddenly and smacked his arm, giving him a reproachful look. “You sneak!”

“I thought you’d be excited, darling.”

“You let me agonize over losing, thinking I had bargained away our time together, and you intended to stay regardless! Positively cruel to toy with me like this.”

“Oh yes, how dare I spend more time with my wife?” He was smirking and she wrinkled her nose at him. Still, she fell back to the bed and allowed him to take her in his arms again.

“What am I to do about these?” she asked, gesturing to the many, many bruises across her body. “You’ve left none of me fit for polite company.”

“Yes, I suppose not.” He looked entirely too pleased.

“This must be very funny for you.”

“Don’t worry, my dear. I wouldn’t let anyone see you this way. The staff have been dismissed for the rest of my stay.”

She moved again, sitting up on her knees to face him. “An entire week to ourselves?”

“Just you and me. And your man, of course, unless you’d care to send him away.”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Why, more plans? I only promised you one night, my lord, and I don’t think my body can take more than that.”

He shook his head. “No, not that. Although…”

She narrowed her eyes. His ideas were exciting, and more than pleasurable, but she could only acquire so many bruises.

“There’s quite a lot of fun the three of us could have without any more games.” He shifted his weight. “But if you were interested, we could…how to put this? Swap the hunter for the prey.”

It was not like him to be coy. She blinked a few times, trying to catch his meaning.

“Let me say it another way. What would you say to spending a night or two with a man who was not your King, nor even Master, but something else entirely?”

This was oh so intriguing, assuming she understood him correctly. His eyes were sincere and he seemed almost nervous to say it.

“Darling,” she said, cupping his face in her hand, “are you asking to cede your command?”

He nodded. She felt a tingling sensation in her spine.

“That…I believe I can do for you.” Their hands met, intertwining, as her mind raced through new possibilities. “I think I should like to be a Queen.”

***

It took several days to prepare everything, even with Wren’s help. Once her mind started moving there were quite a lot of objects to acquire. The King moved around nervously, as if expecting surprises around every corner. It was charming to see him caught off guard.

She was in the dining room with Wren, arranging furniture. “You have been very flexible these past days,” she said. “I know it must be confusing.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore, Mistress. I am getting used to the nature of the game. I just fear I am slow to learn.”

She took his hand, squeezing once. “This is new for all three of us. At least…to this extent.”

“If I may…” Wren took a breath. “I am enjoying it.”

She laughed. “You are not alone in that. Now let’s finish this up before I lose my patience.”

They finished preparations and took their places.

It was a small castle, but there was a throne room of sorts. More of a banquet hall than anything, but as it was currently empty of banqueters it would do the trick nicely. She sat in the chair purloined from the head of the high table and set on a small dais. It was hardly a throne, but it was high backed and imposing. Coupled with her sitting on it, face ice cold and commanding, it produced the desired effect.

He entered at the very end of the hall, looking small against the polished doors. His steps were stiff; he was overly conscious of his movement. Naturally so, considering she was watching him the whole way. It would be an understatement to say he was not used to being looked down upon.

Finally he reached the end, stopping before her. Wren stood at her side, projecting strength and warning. His usual manner, submissive and unobtrusive, was entirely absent. He was looking the other man in the eye along with her, almost daring him to step out of line.

It was silent a long moment. She looked at him as if she found him incredibly tedious. His eyes were incredibly nervous looking up at her, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“If you sought this audience to waste my time, you have succeeded.” Her voice echoed slightly in the vast, empty room. She raised a hand toward Wren, and he began to move toward the man.

“No!”

Her eyebrows raised.

“I mean, forgive me, I did not mean to waste your time, I was simply struck speechless when I looked upon you.” He had a gift for pretty compliments, but he would find them lacking in effectiveness today.

“Show some respect.” Wren’s voice was almost a growl. Her skin tingled to hear him speaking so forcefully.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Before this week, she had not seen him bow since he was a child; the motion was still smooth and well-practiced. This was quite unlike his half-mocking bow of the other night. There was genuine obeisance in the gesture. He flicked his gaze over to Wren, who must have looked threatening, because he did not stand upright again. Instead, he lowered himself cautiously to his knees. Her stomach somersaulted, but she was careful to keep her face cold.

“State your purpose, then.”

“I come to offer my service, Your Majesty.”

“Service?” She raised an eyebrow. “What service could I expect from the likes of you? Ill-mannered, disrespectful, and presumptuous.”

He blinked, surprised at her reproach. “I apologize for my impertinence. Please, I can be useful.”

She regarded him coldly.

His voice grew fractionally more desperate. “Please allow me to stay, I can be whatever Your Majesty wants.”

“I have no use for incompetent servants.”

“If I may, Your Majesty?” Wren’s voice from her side. She turned to find his expression thoughtful and nodded for him to continue. “He would no doubt be a poor servant, but with some training…” His expression turned back to the man on the floor. “Your Majesty has said she would like a pet.”

His eyes went wide and he glanced up at her, seeming to forget to bow his head. She let a small smile play about her lips, knowing he was looking. “An excellent idea.”

With a gesture, Wren was at the man’s back. He was too stunned to react before his arms were pinned behind him, Wren forcing him to stand. There was fear and confusion in his eyes. She stood, stepping down to get close to him. His eyes darted away from her gaze and back, as if he were both compelled and forbidden to meet it.

One hand came to the side of his face, halfway between gripping and stroking. “As you said, you shall be whatever I want.” She leaned toward his ear, whispering. “And maybe if you are a very good pet, I will let you serve me after all.” His breath was quick and labored, his heartbeat audible so close. This made her smile wider.

“What do you mean by pet?” His voice was frantic.

Wren instantly gripped his arms tighter as she took hold of his chin, hard. “Pets do not speak.”

He said nothing, so she released him.

Her gaze turned toward Wren, over his shoulder. “Let’s have a look at him.”

He flinched away, but she glared in warning and he stilled. Wren stripped him without affection, tearing his clothes in places. Finally he stood naked, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and she took a step back to admire. She regarded him for a long while, keeping her face neutral. The longer it went on, the more he squirmed.

“Come along.” And she walked away.


	10. Training

Wren led her new pet out of the throne room, one hand on his back to direct and threaten. He went more or less willingly; clearly fearful, but intrigued. She did not have to find out whether Wren’s considerable strength could overpower him. It was simpler this way, though she might have enjoyed watching that struggle.

They arrived at the dining room Wren had helped her prepare earlier. The pet looked apprehensive; it was bare and foreboding. The furniture was gone. All that remained was a few windows and thin carpeting. And, in the center of the room, a metal ring stuck in the floor, with a chain padlocked to it.

She could not see his face as he observed it for the first time, but she did catch a delightful little gasp. When she reached the center ring she turned toward him.

“You want to serve, pet? Here’s your chance. On your knees.”

He did as bidden, eyes locked on the chain in the center of the room. No longer behind him, Wren found time to collect something from the next room. He reappeared after a moment and handed her a simple dog collar.

The pet looked frightened, but she could tell by his breathing and the reaction of his body that that was not all he felt. She walked to him and lowered herself down to his level, looking in his eyes. One of her fingers tipped his chin upward, inspecting him. “Not as pretty as a pleasure slave,” she mused, “but awfully cute when it’s excited.” A moment later he was wearing the collar.

Wren came to finish the job, as they’d discussed. The pet was surprised when his neck was jerked forward toward the floor. One end of the chain was on the ring and one on his collar, and it did not allow any extra room. He was doubled over, forced onto all fours, and he would not be able to lift his head any higher. When she rose to her full height, he wasn’t able to angle his neck enough to see her face.

“First things first, little pet. You need to get used to being on all fours where you belong. But don’t worry: if you’re good, it won’t be long.”

With that, she turned to leave, Wren at her heels. His voice called loud from behind her, panicked. “Please -- are you going to leave me here?”

She turned over her shoulder and he instantly shrank back under her look. “What did I say about speaking?”

There was an apology in his eyes, but she was not one to give second warnings. Luckily she had prepared for this. Wren, as usual, was a step ahead. He had already gone, and she kept her eyes on the pet. He looked down and away, but continued to squirm.

Wren returned and made to give her something, but she gestured him toward the pet instead. He might have had trouble fending Wren off in the best of circumstances; chained as he was, he was entirely powerless. None too gently, Wren forced a leather muzzle over his mouth.

With it strapped around his head he could not hope to make coherent speech, but it seemed at this point he knew better than to make any sound at all.

“Much better,” she said as she left the room.

***

When she returned to his room -- after what she deemed was enough time -- she found him exactly where she left him. He was on all fours chained to the floor. His expression was strained, though he held steady. She leaned over so he could see her face when she tilted it up to hers.

“Such a good pet.” Her hand became gentle on his cheek, stroking tenderly. “Will you be a good boy if I unchain you?”

His neck was strained to look up at her, but he managed a small nod with the little movement he had. Wren had appeared silently behind her and offered a key with which she unchained the padlock, freeing his neck. The chain hung from his collar loosely. He stretched his neck slightly, but he stayed on his hands and knees.

She took a hand to his head, running her fingers through his hair and petting. He closed his eyes under her touch, moving with her hand. Slowly she guided him closer to her, letting him nuzzle her leg with his head as she rose to her full height. His hair was soft, but having him so far below her was perhaps the better feeling.

She turned abruptly. “One more thing, I think.” His head hung in the air where she had been.

She made eye contact with Wren, who disappeared a final time. The pet was under her gaze again, and he dared not return to her without permission. He could not see when Wren returned with another short chain and two mitts.

This time she applied the restraints herself. She leaned down to his hung head and took one of his hands; he allowed without protest. His fingers were curled into a fist, then the mitt slid over them. He could not move his fingers or hope to grasp anything. She secured the mitt, then secured his other hand.

The final touch was the chain connecting them, keeping his useless hands at the perfect distance for awkward crawling and little else. Satisfied, she turned to leave the room, beckoning him to follow.

The only sure sign she had that he was following was the light clinking of his chains. She led him to the kitchen. For a long moment she allowed herself to simply look him up and down, enjoying the site of him on all fours on the hard kitchen floor.

“Are you hungry, pet?” She didn’t check to see if he answered; she spoke the words as if to an empty room. Two bowls, one filled with food and one with water, were set in front of him. She removed the muzzle as well, but not without a warning glance.

His face contorted at the sight of his meal. It wasn’t anything unsavory, but the presentation left quite a lot to be desired. Understanding seemed to hit him that crawling was not the extent of this role.

“Oh, pet. You didn’t think you’d get to eat human food, did you?”

He looked up to find her face sweet and condescending. His gaze fell back on the bowl, and he leaned away from it slightly.

“Eat.”

Wren took a step closer to him from behind, and an unspoken threat hung in the air. The pet, without access to his hands, understood what he was to do. He leaned down and bit cautiously at the bowl.

He had to adjust his angle to make sure his chain did not drip into his food. It may have surprised him that the food was edible; he took to it more quickly after the first bite. She only loomed above him, savoring.

He worked his way through most of the bowl, occasionally pausing to awkwardly attempt to lap up water. His shoulders were tense; it was clear he was aware of the eyes on him. About a quarter of the bowl remained when he slowed down. He made to back away from the bowl. Calmly, she lifted her foot and put a shoe to the back of his head. She let enough of her weight rest on him to push his face back toward the food.

“All of it.”

When he started to eat again, after a moment of tension, she released him. His pace was slower, and slightly strained, but he ate obediently. This time he did not leave a single morsel behind.

“Good boy,” she cooed, leaning down to pat his head. He fully leaned into her touch now. She raised the muzzle in her other hand, and his eyes went very slightly wider. “Do we need this again, or are you going to be good?”

His eyes flicked between the muzzle and her face, until he finally shook his head quickly and then hung his neck. The message was a promise and a submission at once, and she felt a twitch between her legs. He was adorable, which was not an adjective she had ever ascribed to him before. She set the muzzle down.


	11. Begging

They left the room, her leading and the pet crawling after, Wren at the rear. She led them to the sitting room and set herself on the loveseat. The pet began attempting to crawl up onto the chair with her, awkward on all fours and with his hands chained.

“No,” she said sharply. “No pets on the furniture.”

He lowered himself partway, looking none too pleased.

“Sit.” He did, back on his heels.

Wren came to sit beside her instead, taking her into his arms. She leaned into his chest and let her arm drape over the edge of the seat. The pet took the invitation in her outstretched fingers and leaned into her. She scratched his scalp and behind his ears.

It was a delightfully peaceful arrangement. Warmth at her back, gentle affection pawing at her hand. She allowed her eyes to close and enjoy it.

Before long, however, she grew bored and restless. She lifted herself and sat up straight, turning to face Wren with one leg on the floor.

He knew the expression well and began to entertain her in the manner he knew best. She settled into his attention for a while – easy and unhurried.

She was idly kissing him when she felt something on her leg. The pet was nudging her with his head, clearly asking for something.

“What do you want, pet?”

His head continued pushing, at the inside of her knee, suggesting her legs apart. He glanced up to her hips meaningfully.

She laughed. “Oh no, little one, only very good pets get a treat.” One swift pat on his head and she was back to Wren.

Until, that is, there was a whining sound from below her. She would not have expected he could produce such a pathetic, high-pitched noise. She wanted to be annoyed, but the fire in her belly grew instead.

She kept her attention carefully on Wren for a moment, but the sound did not cease. Pulling back slightly from his lips, she spoke in a low, irritated voice: “If you insist on whining, I’ll chain you back up and leave you till morning.”

His whining only increased. She turned fully to face him now, anger on her face. Her ruthless expression backfired; he lowered himself and hung his head, looking up through his lashes, and the truly pitiful posture drove her absolutely wild.

“You naughty boy. You’re baiting me to punish you so you can get my attention.” She pushed him away with her foot, though gently. Her expression was softening even as she tried to keep it cold. Suddenly, he lowered himself even further and timidly licked her foot.

Now she actually laughed, letting the stony-faced façade fall way. He licked a few more times, short animalistic strokes.

“He is an extremely ill-behaved pet, isn’t he?” Her hand found his head, stroking through the soft hair.

“Unmanageably so, Your Majesty,” Wren agreed, also without malice.

“Okay, pet. We can play for a little while.”

He sat up on his heels eagerly, inching himself toward her, but she kept him at arm’s length. “Not so fast. First you have to play with him.”

The pet followed her gaze to where Wren was beginning to stand. Wren led him to a spot where she could easily watch, then grabbed the chain still hanging around the pet’s collar. He wrapped it once around his hand and pulled the pet up to his knees. She let herself recline in her seat and got a better view.

“Stop your whining.” Wren spoke forcefully. The sight of it, Wren standing threateningly over him, was intoxicating. “And give your owner a good show.”

Wren pulled the chain again, bringing the pet’s face closer. He nudged his nose at Wren, who was visibly hard, seeking permission. Wren made him wait a few moments before he reacted. With his other hand, Wren freed himself from his pants and let the pet play.

He licked quickly and eagerly, no finesse in the name of urgency. He raised his bound hands and leaned into his legs, looking more like an animal than ever. She felt a hitch in her breath.

It was a thrill to know that if it had been an ordinary circumstance and Wren on his knees, his movements would have been slower, more deliberate, and more elegant. The pet was wild and eager. Elizabeth could not resist taking a finger and beginning to stroke herself through her underclothes.

Now the pet had taken Wren completely into his mouth. He stroked back and forth with his mouth, still looking the eager little puppy. She moved her fingers faster. Wren met her eyes and saw her reaction; he smiled mischievously.

Wren released the chain and moved his hand to the pet’s head, petting gently. Then he intertwined his fingers in hair and yanked, pulling the pet all the way off him. The pet was disoriented but remained where he was held. “What do you say, Your Majesty? Has he earned his treat?”

Oh, but he was good. She returned his grin and Wren shoved the pet toward her. The pet made a show of crawling toward her, head down. When he reached her feet he sat up on his heels and whined again. Her stomach lurched.

Pulling her skirts to her hips, she spread her legs. She gripped his chain and pulled, jerking him by the neck between her legs. He began to lick wildly, inside her thighs and through her undergarments. The sensation was broad and light, making her buzz.

She thumbed at her undergarments, sliding them down her hips to give him access. As soon as they were released enough, the pet took a corner with his teeth and dragged them the rest of the way off. Her breath caught again.

He returned and paused at her entrance, meeting her eyes. She nodded, and he did not waste time.

His tongue was no less eager than before, licking up and down as soon as she gave permission. She took his head in her hand, still slick from her own eagerness, guiding his mouth. His movements were crude, but they stoked her all the same.

Then his tongue was inside, curling. A few more thrusts followed. She had gotten herself quite a head start, and his sweet rambunctious attentions put her even closer. She was moaning now. He bit her folds playfully, swift and unpainful but she trembled nonetheless.

She gripped his hair tighter, pulling him closer, grinding into his mouth. He gave her one last nibble and the wave fell over her all at once. The spasms ricocheted through her body.

“Good boy. Very good boy.” He nosed her inner thigh, breathing heavily and making a soft, contented noise. She looked down at him again. “I really should have you spend a night in the cage for being such a bad pet earlier.” He looked up pitifully, eyes widening. She thought she could see him shivering at the thought.

She took his chin in her hand, meeting his gaze. “Next time,” she promised.


	12. A Proposal

For a while they simply sat there, silent but for the sound of slowing breaths. She leaned toward him and he did not react as she unfastened the collar and threw it to the floor. He offered his hands and she released them, too. He flexed his fingers a few times, stretching them out. Then she helped him up to the seat beside her.

“All right, my love?” She held his face, stroking his jaw tenderly.

He nodded. “More than all right.” He reached for her hand, interlocking their fingers. “I can say that you took to that more naturally than I was expecting.”

“Always underestimating me.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I quite like letting you lead. Some of the time,” he clarified, meeting her gaze again.

“Don’t worry, my lord. I would scarcely limit our options like that.” She squeezed his hand. “Are you hurt?”

“My knees are worse for wear and my neck may be sore tomorrow, but nothing serious.”

She wrapped her hands about his neck and massaged lightly. “I could have been gentler with this.”

“It was only fair. I suspect the wounds I left on you have yet to fully heal.”

“Point taken, though you won’t find me complaining much.”

“Nor I, my dear.”

She leaned in to kiss him. She could still taste herself on his lips. His movements were subtle and small – back to his usual, unfrantic behavior.

“I think it might be time for bed,” she said.

“Not the cage?” His voice was teasing.

“Oh, there is a cage, darling. You’re welcome to it if you’d prefer.”

“As you said,” he rose and offered his hand. “Next time.”

***

It was odd to return to business as usual. The King left the chateau at the end of the week, as promised, and returned to court. She stayed behind and was surrounded again by staff, filling the empty castle and turning it to quite a different space. Her summer was routine again.

When she did leave, she missed her husband more than usual. Weeks apart after several intense nights was harder to bear than it had been. She cut the visit short by a few days at the end.

It was not long after she arrived that they reunited and she received a very warm welcome. Now, they were back in his bed, lying lazily side by side. Wren was stretched across the end of the bed, having fallen asleep nearly as soon as she let him. It was not a surprise to her that he was exhausted.

“It is very dull here without you,” the King said.

“Predictable. Besides the torturous lack of my company, I can usually rescue you from the dullest members of court.”

“Somehow I forget this every year.”

“Then I shall never cease going. It’s important to remind you how invaluable I am.”

He took her hand and squeezed it once. “You are invaluable. In fact, I’ve been thinking.”

She made a small noise, prompting him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking that you should be Queen.”

“Did you like my performance that much, darling? I’m happy to reprise the role if ever we can sneak off to the chateau for a night.”

“I don’t mean as a game, Elizabeth.”

She opened her eyes and raised herself off him, turning to check his expression. His eyes were serious. “This is not a suggestion to make idly.” 

“No, it isn’t, which is why I make it with full earnestness after months of careful consideration.”

She hesitated. “It could not be done.”

“It was the way of things for generations, long ago.”

“Yes, and where did that lead?” A slight edge had crept into her voice. “A kingdom cannot balance—”

“’With two heads on its shoulders.’ I know the expression, my dear. It’s an idiom created by a fractured people, not a law of nature. We are not my great-grandparents.”

She turned her face away from him. Of course she would not turn traitor, she knew that. She knew it despite what she had been told her entire life – that two monarchs at once create a civil war, invariably. Still, she wrung her hands.

“It is a big risk for a different title. I am fine as I am.”

“It’s not for the sake of your vanity.” His voice was firm. “I have better methods of reinforcing that.”

She met his eye again, and his expression was calm and determined. He continued.

“You already act as head of state on my behalf with regularity. Of the pair of us, you have the better relationship with most of the nobility and several foreign allies besides. You’re obviously capable of securing the interests of the crown and usually with more finesse than I could hope. I am simply trying to remove the superficial restriction on your authority.”

The thoughts spun slowly in her head. Everything he’d said was right, of course. In recent memory alone she had been slowed or halted altogether by deference to the King. And it had been the way once that the King and Queen ruled together.

“And—” he went on. “Selfishly, I admit it would free up some of my time.”

His tone made it clear that at least part of the freed time might be devoted to personal interests that would benefit the both of them.

“And what of opinion? Of the people? Of the court?”

“They would accept you.”

“You seem very sure.”

“I am entirely sure.” He took her hand. “Do not suspect me of being blinded by my own affections, my dear. I would not suggest this if the pieces were not already in place.”

“You _have_ been thinking about this for a long time.”

He only nodded.

“Your heart is set on this?”

“My mind is made up, but it’s your decision in the end.”

She leaned back into him, and his arm took its familiar place around her. It would be a lie to say she had never wished for this, but it was the sort of wish one makes without any hope in it. Her gaze drifted to his face and found him serene and unbothered. She reached up to hold his head, and her thumb paused behind his ear, rubbing affectionately over his marriage mark. After a long while, she broke the silence.

“I’m keeping my own bedroom.”

He smiled at her, taking a hand to her hair. “My dear, I would insist upon it. You sleep like a wild animal.”

“That’s Queen of the wild animals, to you.”

***

He was already awake when she woke, this time.

“How,” he began, incredulous, “have you managed to seduce me on the eve of the Festival two years in a row?”

“Seduce you!” She rose onto her elbow, rubbing at sleepy eyes. “That is not how I remember it. I seem to recall my husband coming to call when I was already half asleep, desperate for my company.”

He lifted his chin haughtily. “I am never desperate for anything.”

“Lying does not become you, darling. You ought to leave the feigned indignance to me.”

His face melted into a warm smile. “I’m sure you’re right, my dear.”

There was a loud knocking on the door. Wren, who had been fully asleep on a pile of cushions beside the bed, started awake at the sound. He rose quickly to answer the door, finding an anxious-looking Vincent. He plowed into the room past the slave.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesties, but it is already late and –”

“We know, Vincent,” she said calmly. “We shall prepare post haste.”

When they were ready, Elizabeth met the King before the entrance to the gardens once again. They were both in white today – someone had said it was a color of unity, and this year’s Festival was intended to be more about unity than ever.

He offered an arm and she took it. “My lord,” she said, by way of greeting.

“My lady.”

And the King and Queen stepped into the sunlight together.


End file.
